Fire of Youth
by MiniKoontzy
Summary: A "What If" type story. What would have happened if Optimus had died during the episode "Rebellion"? What would've happened to Smokescreen once he'd taken the Matrix for himself? WARNING: ALL ABOARD THE FEEL TRAIN. Rating raised to T just in case due to mild gore, mild swearing, and scenes of physical pain.
1. Chapter 1: Fire of Youth

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 1

 _*This is a "What If?" type of thing that is going to be fairly short in comparison to my other stories. I may just leave it at this chapter for a while just to get the idea out of my head and give me some time to plan ahead. Failing that I may just leave it here as a speculative one-shot sort of thing._

 _*Note 1: This story is going to be very feelsy and tear-jerking in nature, unlike my other stories. Prepare for your heartstrings to be remorselessly sliced out of your chest with a large kitchen knife, especially during this part. If you are an emotional person, then read ahead at your risk._

 _You have been warned._

 _*Note 2: Sequence of events has been slightly altered to suit my tastes, and to suit my own personal head cannon a little better. This is a "What If" scenario, so I think I'm allowed a bit of leeway in terms of plot and plot devices._

 _-MiniKoontzy_

* * *

Optimus Prime knew he was dying. There was no saving him. He understood that.

Every inch of his body was broken and battered, too badly damaged to be repaired even by the most skilled of medics, and there were none to help him here, concealed as he was in a cavern beneath the Nevada desert. Energon seeped out of countless gashes and cuts on his frame, evidence of his being caught in the fiery explosion of Omega One. His air intakes were weak and labored, cooling fans having been heavily damaged. His spark pulsed feebly in his chest.

There was no saving him. His time had come. He would not resist. He was ready.

His damaged optics flickered as he scanned his dark, stony surroundings, forcibly pushing himself out of light power down, doing his best to ignore the tempting, light-accentuated darkness at the corners of his line of sight. He had to stay online just a little while longer. If he fell offline before he passed on the Matrix to another living host, then Cybertron would truly be lost to their race forever.

But he was tired – so very, very tired. The Prime was tired of loss, of burying soldiers and friends and loved ones as this accursed civil war raged on without end in sight. He was tired of the savage brutality of warfare. He was tired of fighting the mech he had at one time considered a brother.

He felt the Matrix flare in his chest, releasing a soothing wave of warmth that helped to ease some of the grueling pain caused by his lethal wounds. After a moment it once more flared within him, gentler this time, and now coupled with a tendril of wordless affection that reached into his sputtering, weakened spark. A sense of pure bliss washed over his awareness. The dying Prime smiled softly and sighed, shuttering his damaged optics as he leaned back against the slab of stone behind him. He was not afraid, not anymore, for he knew now who could come to retrieve him and guide him to his well-earned rest. He would not be walking the Eternal Path alone.

For the first time since before the War, he heard the Voice speak clearly in his mind:

' _My final gift to you, my faithful disciple. You have done so much for me. It is past time I did something for you in thanks. Your last moments will not be unpleasant. I will allay the pain for you until your young charge returns with his prize. I will come for you then, my son._ '

There was another soothing wave of warmth that spread out from the Matrix into his weary limbs and dulled his nerve endings, suffusing his fading spark with untainted love and pride and gratitude. He sighed once again, letting his battered body relax. It was an almost addicting sensation. Lulled by the comforting heat, he let his mind wander, reviewing his existence.

He had lived a long life – a good life, even if the latter portion of it was riddled with pain and loss. He had done everything conceivable to uphold the title and consequent responsibility he had been given so long ago. Now the time had come for another to take up the mantle in his stead. And the Matrix had already made its decision. He now had to pass it on before he left this life and journeyed into the next. But time was running short. Already he could feel his spark fluttering within him in eager anticipation, waiting for the moment it would fly free.

He just had to hold on a little while longer until Smokescreen returned with the Forge.

Just a little while longer….

* * *

His wait was not a very long one. He felt the Matrix pulse faintly as it detected an approaching spark and identified it rapidly as belonging to the young mech had sent out on his assigned retrieval mission. He had not put such faith in him needlessly. His loyalty was what truly defined him. That mech would do anything for his friends.

He mused briefly on the young mech's qualities. ' _Loyalty. Cleverness. Adaptability. Courageousness._ '

All were good traits in a Prime. His Autobots would be in good hands. Smokescreen would care for them while he watched and guarded from beyond.

He felt the gentle tendril of affection reach into his spark again, felt it wrap around it as gingerly as a child would. He knew what was about to happen, and he knew the owner would time his demise flawlessly with Smokescreen's arrival. Explanations as to why the young mech had been chosen could wait until after he had accepted the Matrix into his body.

' _Come, my faithful one. It is time. I await you. You no longer need to fight. You can rest now._ '

While his nerve endings detected no pain, he nonetheless grimaced as he felt the gentle little tendril of affection sever his spark's ties to the material world. Soft blackness encroached on his awareness like a compassionate tidal wave as his optics dimmed and his body went still. Shuttering his optics, the Prime emitted one last tired, content sigh before finally falling silent, his soft, serene smile returning – a parting message to his returning charge that all would be well.

* * *

At first all around him was darkness. Then slowly, the in-between world swam into focus. He was still in the cavern, though the shadows were more pronounced and thick mist swirled around below him, slithering and wrapping over his lifeless body like a dream-woven blanket. His pulsing baby blue spark hovered above his battered body for a moment or two as though it were uncertain.

Where was his guide? The Prime could not find his away alone, and he had promised to come for him. So where was he? Where was Primus?

As if in reply to his unvoiced question there was a soft white flash ahead of him. When it faded there stood a mechanical being that was neither fully a mech nor fully a femme in appearance, its body seemingly made of blazing white starfire. Grafted seamlessly to the entity's back were curved spars of white metal that formed a strange pair of wings. Gold optics resembling burning stars appraised him him with unquantifiable levels of fatherly love. When a smile broke out on his faceplates it was like a new galaxy bursting into existence.

Never had the Prime seen him in person before. He was awe-inspiring, glorious and near-blinding to look directly at. Power radiated from his form, making his spark shy back from the sensation of heat that rolled off him – heat reminiscent of a great star whose fire nurtured rather than destroyed.

The entity of white starfire extended an inviting hand to the small orb before him, wordlessly sending out a wave of love and reassurance. He also sent out a burst of raw information that showed him how to manifest the shape of his old shell. Optimus took advantage of the data in an instant, no longer a mere orb of light but a spectral version of his pre-War self. He felt a little less...exposed now, though his spectral nature was faintly disconcerting to him.

Both watched as the Prime's young charge determinedly huffed and grunted as he phased, back first, through the stony walls of the cavern, dragging a massive golden hammer almost as large as he was tall. It was good to see he was none the worse for wear, even if he looked a bit amusedly aggravated at the sheer size and weight of the object he was dragging. Unaware of the two ghostly beings, the young mech passed right through the blazing white form of Primus, who didn't appear to mind such obliviousness, though there was sadness in his ancient gold optics.

Clearly he wanted to help the youngling, but he was allowed only to directly interact with the dead, at least until his own body was re-awakened from it's enforced slumber. All he could do was observe, and it pained him to no end.

"Hey, Optimus! I found the..."

Smokescreen's voice trailed off as his optics fell on the motionless form of his idol. His optics went round in horror and grief. Dropping the Forge, he rushed forward in a blind panic. Vainly he checked for a spark pulse, only to detect nothing. His normally strong field was also absent, and his optics were shuttered, no familiar blue light detectable underneath. Then his gaze fell on the Prime's serene, content smile – and everything fell into place.

"No, no! Please!" he cried. "You gotta come back! We need you! _I_ need you! Please! Wake up! Come back!"

At that he collapsed, his helm and upper body onto the still chestplates, coolant-laced tears trickling down his cheeks. Grief wracked his spark, making it feel as though it would simply snap and snuff out. He'd just lost the one being who actually held a degree of faith in him because he'd been too slow getting back.

" _Please...Wake up_..."

He jolted when he felt the dead Prime's chestplates begin to shift and rearrange. He gasped in shock when strong, baby blue light washed over his features. When his optics calibrated to the strong blue glare they went round upon spotting what stared back at him. It was a spheroidal object containing a bluish crystalline object held by a framework of gold metal.

The Matrix.

For a few moments he simply stared at it uncomprehendingly. Then his processor finally started to work again. He reached forward, but his hand stopped cold when the object's visibly brightened at the proximity of the limb. His expression became abruptly hesitant and frightened.

Some small part of him urged: ' _Take it. He wants you to have it_.'

But a greater part of him was screaming at him to run – run as far away as possible from it. He wasn't worthy of it. He wasn't ready for the responsibility holding it entailed. He wasn't ready to have his spark laid bare to the all-powerful force that resided within it.

Unseen by the youngling, the spectral Prime knelt down and laid a comforting black hand on his shoulder armor. He tried to speak, to tell him it was alright to take it, but was rather disconcerted and alarmed when no sound came out. Was it because he no longer possessed a physical vocalizer? Rather inconvenient. Obviously he would need another way to encourage the youngling to take the Matrix. If he didn't take it soon...then all would be lost.

He glanced up and over at the white starfire being standing near him for some sort of advice. In reply, Primus smiled softly and nodded, sending out a small wave of reassurance – a hint. Perhaps he could not physically communicate with Smokescreen right now, but he could transfer his emotions, perhaps even pure thought to him instead. While not as direct as speech was, it was still a viable means of "talking" to him.

A pulse of apprehension wafted over to him – a warning. ' _Be gentle. His spark is weak from grief. Channel too much emotion and it will do more harm than good_.'

He nodded silently, turning his attention back to the still frightened, apprehensive Smokescreen. It was...strange, but he could actually see the youngling's spark through his armor, quivering inside him like a candle. It was disturbingly dim from the emotional anguish it was laboring under. It pained him to see him – normally so outgoing and vivacious and energetic – so utterly broken inside.

Shuttering his optics, the Prime focused. He sent out at first a small nudge of tentative kindness and was pleased to see the youngling react visibly to it, optics going wide again as his helm whipped around curiously. Realization slowly began to dawn.

"O-Optimus?"

 _Confirmation_. _Approval_. Yes, it was he.

The youth choked back a gasp: "You're still here?!"

 _Sadness_. _Grief_. _Sorrow_. Not for very much longer, no. He could not linger here indefinitely. Doing so might cause...erm...problems. And he was keeping someone here waiting anyway – patiently waiting, mind him, but still waiting. He'd rather not detain him here any longer than necessary.

"B-But why can't you just come back? You're still here. I mean, I've got the Forge. I could –"

 _Pity_. _Denial_. No, he was not to use the Forge's dwindling power to revive him. It would be a waste. His time was over, his spark too far on one side. He was to save the Forge's power for use on the Omega Lock on Cybertron. The loss of one mech was trivial compared to the loss of their homeworld. However, a Prime was needed to properly wield the Forge's power, and the Matrix had made its decision.

"I-I..." Smokescreen stammered. Then he jerked away in fear. "No. No. I don't deserve it. I-I'm just a rookie. I'm not a leader! I-I'm still learning!"

 _Pride_. _Encouragement_. _A hint of amused confusion_. He had been an archivist in Iacon before he had been chosen. How was this situation any different, aside from the fact that Smokescreen actually _had_ combat training? That was something he had not had to start out with. He _was_ worthy of it. The Matrix did not make mistakes of this order. A leader was chosen not by his skill or his intelligence or level of preparedness. Rather, a leader was chosen for his spark.

"They're not gonna accept me." he mumbled morosely.

 _Hesitant admittance_. No. Perhaps not right away. His integration had been similarly difficult. Not many 'Bots had been ready and willing to follow a former archivist of all things into battle. But in time they would learn to accept their new Prime. _Kindness_. _Hope_. He had faith in him, and should he ever need guidance he would be there to offer it.

Smokescreen managed a weak but grateful smile. "Thanks."

 _Urgency_. He needed to claim the Matrix quickly, though. Like any spark it could go out for good. If the Matrix went dark, then Cybertron would be lost to them forever. It needed a living host, as it was a symbiotic mechanism. As long as the Matrix – and the small portion of Primus's spark contained within – continued to shine, Cybertron would continue to live on. As would he.

With that, the spectral Prime removed his hand and got back to his pedes. He cast another glance at the patiently waiting white starfire being and received another gentle nod of affirmation. He would let him linger just a little while longer – long enough to ensure the Matrix was safely installed inside its new host. After that it would be time to leave.

Smokescreen's apprehension returned slightly as he eyed the glowing device. He reached out a second time, but like before his hand paused just short of the sacred object. This – it still didn't feel right to him. Steeling himself, the young mech forced his hand to continue and grasp onto one of the two simple golden handles. He was stunned to feel something flow between the device and himself. It was hard to describe what it was exactly, but he felt his anxiety washed away by it. Thus encouraged, he finally removed the object from the dead Prime's chest cavity.

For a moment he simply held it, mesmerized by the pulsating crystal held within. To actually lay optics on such a powerful, sacred relic was a privilege. But he was also still a little nervous. He had no idea what would happen once he put it inside his own spark chamber. He remembered the warning issued to him, though – if this thing went dark then everything the Autobots fought for would be lost. Cybertron really would die if the Matrix went out.

He issued a string of code from his processor, and watched as his chestplates opened in response. Taking a steadying but nonetheless shuddering intake of air, he placed the device inside his spark chamber and then closed his chestplates. He knelt there in silence. Then:

"Goodbye, Optimus. Rest easy. We'll miss you." Smokescreen murmured.

Unseen by him, Optimus smiled warmly. Yes, his Autobots were in good hands, as were the three children under their care. The Matrix was safely contained in its new host. Smokescreen would be in for a bit of a shock in a few minutes, but he was adaptable and would recover from the ordeal. Knowing him, he'd probably joke about it afterwards in that light-sparked, jabbing manner of his.

Optimus jolted slightly when he felt a hand laid on his shoulder. He looked to see the white starfire being smiling gently, silently flicking its golden optics off in one direction. The message was clear. It was time to go. He nodded silently, acceptingly in reply. Yes, he was ready now – ready to take his place with the many fallen who had been lost to this infernal war. Now was his time to join them in their endless revelry.

The white starfire being raised a single blazing hand, and a silvery-white path of starlight and moonlight appeared that led off out of the cavern. When the entity caught sight of his startled expression there issued a rolling sound from its vocalizer reminiscent of gentle thunder. A wash of amusement flooded his senses. Was he going to stand there gawking at it for all time or was he going to actually follow him down it? He would be late to greet Smokescreen if he stood there staring at it for much longer.

When the spectral Prime stared at him in surprise the entity outright bellowed in hearty laughter before using one of the metal spars of his "wings" to push him forward onto the path. With one last look back at the kneeling young mech and his lifeless shell, he started off. Soon the two beings simply faded away.

* * *

At first, nothing really seemed to happen. He could feel the Matrix sitting inside him, feel the warmth and the contained power within it slinking around his spark as it examined it. No, slinking was a bad adjective. It was more like...sliding, maybe wafting or flowing? Honestly he was at a loss for words to describe it. It kind of felt like all of those things at once. It wasn't a scary sensation, not really, but it was definitely weird and made him a little wary. He was literally being sized up by the Matrix, and by the thing that lived inside it.

Then the burning started.

It wasn't bad, not at first. At first it felt like a small, cozy fire had been lit inside his spark, and it was actually strangely comforting. But rather than fade away or simmer down, the fire's heat simply continued to increase. In moments he was wincing, holding a hand over his chestplates as he desperately resisted the urge to open them again and yank the Matrix out. By the two minute mark he was gasping in pain, his vision blacking out intermittently. Less than a minute later he was doubled over in agony as he felt the fire spread out and into his body.

Then he heard a voice, but it wasn't Optimus's, and it made him panic even more:

' _Easy, kid_. _Easy_. _Integrating can be pretty scrapping painful_. _Just calm down_. _You gotta be awake and alert to start out with_.'

"What kinda crazy, stupid rule is that?!" Smokescreen gasped.

' _It's to anchor you so you don't end up falling into the Well before your time. You'll be out for most of of the process, but you gotta grin and bear it for just a klik, alright? Just hang in there. Intake air in and out, nice and easy. All your panicking is gonna do is make the pain worse. I'll stay here and talk to you if it'll help_.'

Silently he nodded, drawing in deep, shuddering intakes of air. While he still felt like his whole body had been shoved into a furnace, the painful burning actually dulled a little thanks to the voice's suggestion. Oh, it still hurt like the Pit, don't get him wrong, but at least his vision wasn't randomly blacking out anymore, nor was he consciously debating yanking the Matrix out.

Once relatively steadied, he finally asked a question:

"Who is this? Who am I talking to?"

The voice chuckled loudly before replying enigmatically:

' _I'll see you in person in just a few minutes. Introductions can happen then, kid. For now, just call me Prank_.'

"Prank? Um...okay. That's a weird name. Where are you? How are you talking to me?"

' _I'm inside the Matrix. How else_?'

Prank fell silent as the fledgling Prime took this information in and analyzed it. After a few moments of silence his optics went round as realization hit him with the force of an ocean-borne cargo freighter ship. His jaw dropped. This...nuh-uh. No way!

He stammered: "Y-You're one of the..."

Prank chuckled again, this time louder, but with a certain gentleness to it that acted as a sort of warning that the anchoring process was almost complete. A pulse of playfulness came from the Matrix that made the young mech smile faintly.

' _Alright, kid. Anchoring's done. It'll put you in stasis lock now, so don't panic. You're not dying. All the Matrix is gonna do is complete the integration process, and to do that it needs to pull you in so it can absorb your personality and memories - to add to it, so that if you do die, your memories and life experiences can be used to guide the next Matrix bearer. It's nothin' to freak out about, okay_?'

Smokescreen managed a hesitant "O-Okay..." and then it felt like something struck him in the back of the helm, his systems crashing immediately afterwards. Just like that the youngling fell forwards onto the stony cavern floor as the world around him spiraled into welcomingly pain-free blackness.

* * *

His optics opened slowly, hesitatingly. With a hollow groan of pain he pushed himself off the floor only to yelp and scooch back in frightened apprehension. His doorwings lowered, twitching nervously. He wasn't in the cavern anymore. He was someplace else entirely, and it didn't exactly look wholly welcoming either. In fact, it looked rather eerie, but oddly enough also strangely serene and calming. So it was _kind of_ scary, but also _not_ scary.

Darkness stretched on to infinity in all directions. Wafting and swirling around beneath him was a thick blanket of faintly shimmering, star-studded fog. Above glittered a rich tapestry of cosmic phenomena like nebulae and stars and supernova remnants interlaced with multi-colored auroras. Barely discernible were soft whispers, the words too faint and jumbled to make out.

He pushed himself to his pedes warily with the distinct sense that someone was watching him closely. Smokescreen took a few steps backwards as he took in his surroundings and then issued another startled yelp when he felt himself bump into something. Trepidation building in his spark, he slowly turned around to see what or who he had unwittingly cannoned into.

Then he emitted a little shriek, lost his footing as he tried to run for it, and fell to the ground, staring.

In front of him stood the strangest mech he'd ever laid optics on. He was like a random mismatch of every conceivable body part of every imaginable type of Cybertronian ever built. His mind flew to the old human story of Frankenstein and the monster told of in the story, and the bizarre, chaotic character of Discord from My Little Pony, because that's pretty much what this mech looked like – an unusual combination of the two.

"Oh for the love o' Primus, would you stop flipping out? I'm not gonna bite, you know. Do I look like Dracula to you?" the odd mech scolded humorously in a familiar voice.

He stared. Wait a klik. T-That voice: "Prank?!"

Prank grinned impishly at him, shaking his head. "Prank's just a little pseudonym I made up for myself. You're free to continue calling me that if you want, but my real name's Amalgamous Prime. Nice to meetcha, kid."

Smokescreen continued to stare. "You're the Firstforged Shifter!"

"Ah-ha, so you _do_ know who I am, then? Good, very good!" Amalgamous laughed.

"Wait, if you're here then...then where are the others?" he looked around curiously. "How come they're not here?"

Amalgamous helped back to his pedes with one bizarre looking clawed hand, explaining:

"Eh, they figured it'd be best if I was sent to meet you first, alone, just so you don't get as much of a shock. Some of the others aren't as friendly as I am, and Onyx is pretty slagging intimidating. He's not so bad if you get to know him, though. Grim, and as stubborn as that Wheeljack on a bad day. I honestly didn't follow half of what Alpha Trion and Vector put forth in terms of reasoning for that decision, but the most I got out of it was that our personalities are pretty similar and the fact you're employing my signature weapon – the Phase Shifter."

Smokescreen blinked, wincing guiltily. "Wow, I feel like a thief now."

Amalgamous clapped him heartily on the back as he led him off into the mists. "Nah, you're not a thief, kid. It's not like I can use it anymore anyways. Glad to know someone's putting the thing to good use after all this time. You are such a clever little _troll_ with that thing! So proud!" He laughed again, playfully elbowing him in the side.

"Where is here, anyway?" Smokescreen asked after a brief pause.

"The Matrix. It's where all previous Primes reside. We can pass between this place and the Allspark with ease, but this is kind of our personal little dimension to do whatever the frack we want – within certain bounds o' course. Our little 'after playground' if you wanna think of it like that. Only Primes can gain entry to this place, but it also acts as a gateway to the Allspark. That's actually Onyx's doing."

Smokescreen whirled on him in a flash. "Wait, then does that mean...?!"

Amalgamous grinned again: "Yep. He's here too. Mr. Super Librarian himself. Vector literally had to hold the mech back when it was decided I was the one to come and meet you. He was not happy with that decision, did his best to argue it, but the poor sod got outvoted in the end. I had to swear I'd bring you right to them for him to finally agree."

Smokescreen grinned back, looking far happier and less nervous now as Amalgamous led him ever onwards. Slowly but steadily the shimmering mist began to disperse and part, revealing a gathering of mechs and one femme standing in a semi-circle like a jury of sorts. When his gaze fell on a familiar red and blue mech, he broke away from Amalgamous with a choked cry of joyous relief, the Shifter Prime not bothering to stop him.

He didn't try and hold back the tears – tears of sorrow and joy and relief – as the larger mech enveloped him in a loving embrace, shushing him and doing his best to gingerly wipe away the tears with a single black digit. Pride and contentment washed over his awareness, and the youngling basked in it. After the Prime was quite certain he'd gotten a hold of himself, he released him and stood back to full height, casting a glance and a nod at the others, who nodded silently in return.

"Smokescreen, step forward."

Rather than obey, the young mech backed up, his wariness returning with a vengeance. He cast a sideways glance at Optimus for some form of reassurance, and in return the red and blue mech nodded gently. However, his smile seemed a little bit forced and as such did nothing to fully quell the anxiety that was beginning to bubble in Smokescreen's spark. Whatever was about to happen, Optimus wasn't completely okay with it.

Amalgamous looked sideways at him, winking and saying: "I'll be right behind you, kid."

While not exactly encouraged, he was emboldened by the words regardless.

He stepped forward.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Things get a little intense next chapter. Forewarning** **–** **lots of screaming involved.**


	2. Chapter 2: Revenge is Best Served Hot

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 2

* * *

For a few tense moments, the towering forms of the Thirteen peered down at him like a court about to pronounce sentence. Only the presence of Amalgamous and Optimus behind him kept Smokescreen from shrieking and bolting in a blind panic. He felt the way an ant did when confronted with a human – small, weak. If they decided to harm him he was pretty sure they could.

One of the Thirteen, a bestial bronze and black mech with a distinctive reptilian appearance, folded down into the form of a great dragon and slunk forwards. He craned his long neck out, sniffing at Smokescreen whilst circling him like a large armored jungle cat. Smokescreen tried to stay perfectly still, but when the fanged maw of the beast Prime got a little too close for comfort he instinctively flinched. Those fangs looked capable of shredding titanium like paper, and his vicious claws resembled jagged rapiers. He did _not_ want to see those used on another mech, especially not him.

Somehow, through some means, he knew this was Onyx Prime, the first Predacon. Amalgamous hadn't been joking when he'd described him as intimidating. This guy made armored fantasy dragons look puny and frail in comparison.

"Hmm." Onyx growled, slinking around him in circles, a forked silver glossa flicking out from his maw occasionally in the same manner of a serpent. "Yes. He has the fire inside him, but it is weak – it must be stoked. The dark one and his clone will extinguish him if not."

Smokescreen balked, unconscionably not liking where this was going. What was Onyx talking about? And more importantly – as least to him – what was he intending to do about this "weak fire" of his? What did he mean by "stoke"?

"Onyx, while some physical reformatting is natural, what you are proposing is utterly absurd. It could very well kill him." Alpha Trion argued with some unexpected heat.

Onyx lifted his helm to stare evenly at the older looking mech. A flash of defiance, of rebellious assurance, passed over the Predacon's facial features. Then he opened his fanged maw once more to speak:

"He is strong. He will survive the process. And you know he will, scribe."

The solitary femme of the group – Solus Prime – rose to Onyx's defense. "To be fair, Alpha Trion, we have no other option left open. Onyx is simply being practical. If we leave him the way he is then he will be killed. He won't stand a chance against Megatron, much less the newest acquisitions to his ranks, even with our collective wisdom and experience. Not even the Phase Shifter would protect him indefinitely."

All the while Smokescreen tried to understand what the ancient beings were debating doing to him, his helm jerking slightly in different directions as he followed the flow of words. It sounded like they were debating his reformatting, and the process and extent by which he would be altered. It seemed the method that Onyx Prime was suggesting was not being looked upon in the highest of favor. Obviously this was going to be a case of majority rule.

"All in favor?" A silver and white mech – Prima – inquired. He glanced around at his siblings.

Six out of the Thirteen held their hands up.

"All opposed?"

Out of the remaining seven, only six raised their hands. Optimus abstained from voting. He felt his opinion would be too heavily biased. He was against this extensive reformatting plan due to how ludicrously painful it would be for Smokescreen. He wasn't just going to be altered in a relatively minor sense as he himself had been all those centuries ago. His entire frame was going to be changed and transformed into something else entirely. And to do that, he would need to be altered here. To change the body, one must first change the spirit.

Onyx turned to face the younger mech, curiosity in his white optics. "What does the boy say, hmm?"

Smokescreen started slightly, pointing to himself. "Wait, I have a say in this?"

"Well, it is your frame being reformatted. It is only right you should have a say in this decision." Vector confirmed, casting a glance over at both Optimus and Amalgamous as though pleading the other two Primes not to hurt him.

He had very hesitatingly voted in favor of the alteration process, but already the Time Guardian was having second thoughts on Onyx's plan to totally reformat the boy into something entirely different. Slight reformatting to make him a bit stronger and more durable – that was perfectly fine – but full reformatting? That would be incredibly painful for the youngling to go through, especially through Onyx's rather...unique means.

Because when it came to the Predacon Prime's plan, it would be a rebirth by fire – literally.

Smokescreen went deathly silent for a few minutes, helm cast downward and his blue optics alight with fear and anxiety. Then his helm snapped back up to reveal a new-found courage burning in their crystal blue depths. Only those observing saw the flickering blue flame within them. Only they saw it flare and grow brighter when he replied with just two decisive words:

"Do it."

Amalgamous grinned, playfully elbowing the red and blue at his side. "Eh, eh? I like this kid! He's got spunk!"

Onyx bowed his head in acceptance of the deal. He took a few paces back and reared up on his hind legs, massive silvery wings flaring out and catching the light of the cosmic phenomena above. In that moment he was not intimidating beyond reason but completely awe-inspiring. Smokescreen couldn't help but let his jaw drop in sheer, undisguised wonder. He looked incredible – regal as a king yet terrifying like all dragons were. He could practically feel the savage, bestial strength this massive, draconian mech possessed. It burned around him like a fiery aura.

"Prepare yourself." Solus warned. "Onyx will not be holding back."

"Please don't die, kid." Amalgamous pleaded jokingly, stepping back to avoid the coming inferno. He was confident the kid would survive this – for Optimus's sake if no one else's. The youngling wasn't about to disappoint his idol, not here, not now – slag, not ever. The kid wanted to impress him so badly but...no one would hold it against him if he started screaming. One of them might have to hold Optimus back though if he _did_ start howling.

Then the great dragon opened its gaping maw. An orange fire began to build behind its lower abdominal chestplates, roiling and rising upwards through the beast's neck and growing brighter and brighter with every passing moment. When the fire reached its throat the great dragon unleashed a thundering roar that shook the Matrix itself and spewed a wave of blinding, scalding fire at the young mech before him.

The moment the fire touched the young mech's frame he forcibly bit back a scream of pain. This wasn't like the burning sensation he'd experienced earlier. That had been dull and easily bearable in comparison to this. This burning – it was utterly agonizing. It seemed to eat away at his plating like a starved carnivore would tear away at a carcass, and slag did it hurt like the Pit.

In mere seconds his entire body was engulfed in a whirling inferno of writhing, scalding flames. It wound around him like a mass of serpents, blocking his vision, and there was a loud, crackling roar in his audials that made it seem as if the entire universe was suddenly ablaze. Still he refused to scream his agony aloud. He was stronger than that, and he wouldn't show weakness in front of these ancient, powerful beings. He was surprised when he heard the collective voices of of the Thirteen echoing in his mind, their voices clear and ringing:

' _Fire burns. Fire destroys. It cleanses the taint of darkness through its destruction. Fire consumes all, leaving naught but ash and bones and the dead in its wake._ '

The burning was unbearable now. Unable to hold in his agony, he screamed his pain aloud as he felt his body forcibly altered by the flames. He could feel the fire consuming him, reaching inside him and into his very spark. He could feel the fire pulling out the natural darkness within him, that darkness which led to lying and corruption and everything that followed such a turning. He felt that darkness pulled out and vaporized. Now he felt as though a giant hole was left – a giant, empty hole waiting to be filled.

' _Fire inspires. It inspires acts of selflessness and bravery. It ignites the courage in the souls of all heroes._ '

He felt the empty hole in his spark begin to fill just then. Courage flooded his awareness, followed by determination. He suddenly felt like he could take on the universe singlehandedly. Nothing would stop him from re-lighting Cybertron and making it safe again. Nothing would stop him from ending Megatron's reign of terror. But still the young mech screamed at the tortuous pain he was being forced to endure for the sake of Cybertron itself.

' _Fire reminds. It reminds the weak, the helpless, and the abandoned that there will always be a light to guide them home._ '

Images of battered, broken bodies lying in the smoldering rubble of a once great city flashed across his mind. Many were near death, plainly wondering where their guiding light was. More still were already offline, their faintly visible sparks hovering uncertainly above their lifeless shells, silently crying out to their life-giver. They were demanding why he had not stopped this senseless violence. They were demanding why no one came for them. Was there no Light? Were they doomed to wander among the wreckage of their home for eternity?

Smokescreen knew it was just a conjured vision meant to show the War through the optics of the innocent and the fallen, but he still felt his spark ache in due turn for their plight. So many had died because of this conflict, and many more would die if this War wasn't brought to an end.

And then the vision changed. Appearing above the ruined city was a great white sphere of starfire. It sang out to the dying and the dead as it reached out with hundreds of tendrils of white energy, collecting their life forces as gingerly as a child would. Then, with one last ringing note the starfire sphere vanished with its charges. His vision whited out instantly afterwards, and the agonizing pain of his reformatting returned, but his vocalizer appeared to have glitched during the course of the vision. No sound came out of it.

' _But fire heals as well as harms. It brings light and warmth to the dark places, it brings hope to those who have lost it, rekindling the pale and dying fire contained within them. It incites passion and valor and the blazing courage of heroism. It rallies the forlorn like the mightiest of war cries_.'

He felt the hole fill even further. He felt hope surge into him - hope for the future, hope for Team Prime, and hope for both Earth and Cybertron. One day this War would be but a distant memory, looked back on as if it were nothing more than a bad dream. Strength flooded his newly reforming systems and frame.

' _Fire's healing does not come without a price. In order for fire to heal, it must burn away the old life, so that out of the ashes of destruction new life can emerge. Fire cannot heal until it has destroyed. And so out of the ashes of your old form, you will be remade_.'

Then, just like that, the fire surrounding him dissipated and the agonizing burning died away. He hadn't realized his optics were shut, but when he reopened them he saw through the blurriness that he was on his knees, gasping through the fading pain. His whole body trembled as his sensory net recovered. His vision blacked out randomly through the pain. But now, unlike before, he felt a powerful, raging inferno blazing within his spark.

' _You will be the fire that burns back the shadows. You will be the fire that cleanses the darkness. You will be fire that guides those who have been lost. You will be the fire that destroys and the fire that then heals_.'

As one, the Thirteen thundered in his mind and aloud, proclaiming:

' _RISE, INFERNUS PRIME_!'

With a shaky, ragged intake of air the young mech struggled to his pedes. Only Amalgamous laying a steadying hand on his shoulder kept him from collapsing to the floor. It gave him the emotional strength to stay upright.

"Knew you could do it. Didn't I say he could do it?" Amalgamous said, still grinning broadly. However, he forestalled the great desire to clap the youth the on the back in congratulation. He knew must still be incredibly sore, and he didn't want to set off his over-receptive sensory net. It would take a little while for those hyperactive neurodes to calm down back to their normal settings, but young 'Bots tended to recover faster than older ones. He'd be fine.

"I-Is is over?" he demanded shakily, looking a little uncertain and glancing around. His optics were frizting, showing they were still recovering. Right now, he was effectively blind, relying on his audials to determine what was going on around him. As such, he couldn't see what he now looked like. That could happen when he was sent back. Hopefully he wouldn't freak out too badly.

"You're fine, kid." the Shifter reassured. "But you can't stay here indefinitely. Much as we like ya, we gotta kick ya out now."

"Even though I would much rather you let him stay a moment so he can recover to some degree..." Optimus argued in a low, almost disapproving rumble. Sending someone out into a full-scale battle while they were still recovering physically was pure folly to him. Fortunately he could now assist him in such a fight by proving strategic insight and suggestions.

"We gotta send you on back now."

"Now, now. Do not get ahead of yourself, Shifter. He's still missing something." a new voice broke in suddenly.

It was a great, thundering voice full of power, but also at same time as gentle as a summer breeze. There was even an obvious undercurrent of amusement in it. While not able to detect the faint light coming from the source of the voice, he was able to feel it. It was just as blazing as the fire that had nearly consumed him, but unlike that fire, this one was purely healing in nature. Some of the youth's more prominent aches simply melted away.

Infernus's still frizting blue optics went wide. His whole body went stiffer than a post. His voice came out as a very un-courageous sounding whimper: "Please tell me that's _not_ who I think it is standing _right behind me._.."

He heard Amalgamous break out laughing: "Oh, calm down, would you? He's not gonna bite. Just turn around."

"Oh, yeah. Sure. 'Turn around!' he says. 'It'll be fine!' he says...Psh. Yeah, if I don't get vaporized..."

The voice sounded rather insulted when it replied back to him: "Why would you think I do something like to you? I do not attack without provocation, boy, and you have done nothing to provoke me. I am merely here to give you something."

Still unable to see (and frankly feeling fortunate that he couldn't see to begin with), Infernus turned around towards the sound of the voice. He heard the sound of ancient metal creaking and groaning as the shining white titan knelt down. He flinched when he felt a blazing digit approach his chestplates, fearing what might happen. He was seriously debating running at this point.

"Hold still. I mean you no harm." it murmured. The voice was suddenly enriched with a deep, bell-like soothing chord.

Despite every coded instinct screaming at him to turn tail and bolt, the fledgling Prime obeyed and stopped trying to flinch away. He felt the blazing digit contact his chestplates, and felt his spark respond to it. He felt it grow brighter, stronger. He felt a soothing, compassionate warmth spread out of it and into his aching body. He blinked in surprise. This hadn't been what he'd been expecting. He'd been expecting more pain. Not...not this.

"Go now, little ember, with my blessing."

Around him, he felt the familiar and friendly presences of Optimus and Amalgamous fade away. Just before they fully faded, his optics recovered, and he saw the two Primes smiling at him encouragingly, Amalgamous giving him a rather cheeky thumbs-up.

* * *

His optics opened slowly, reluctantly, and revealed the grievously familiar interior of the hidden underground cavern. His whole body felt like it had been pounded by an angry Combiner – it ached horribly. But he also paradoxically felt stronger than before - a lot stronger. Despite feeling battered and weakened from the excruciatingly painful reformatting process, he now felt new-found, almost bestial strength surging through every circuit and wire in his body.

With a faint groan of protest he began to push himself off the stony ground, in the process seeing his hands. Like lightning the fledgling Prime reacted, gasping and reeling back in shock. He brought them up close to his optics get a better look.

His hands. His hands looked like claws now. Not the claws belonging to a Decepticon, but the claws belonging to a beast. They looked like Onyx's hands, just a bit more on the slender side than his had been thanks to his smaller size. Idly he wiggled the blade-like digits around, noting their surprisingly dexterous nature. A cursory glance at the rest of his frame revealed his more animalistic appearance. What had once been smooth or rounded was now jagged and angular. What had once been vehicular in appearance was now more bestial.

He was about to say "Sweet!" when he took notice of the still, lifeless body mere feet away from his own, stopping him from saying anything. It was grey now instead of its previously vibrant red and blue. His spark twinged in grief. It felt wrong to leave his body here, but he would come back for it later, and his team would ensure the great mech got a proper burial. Because he didn't just need one – he slagging _deserved_ one. This mech had willingly sacrificed himself to ensure that his team – his hand-picked team – made it safely away, and he'd mere hours earlier helped save an entire planet. Those were the actions of an honest to Primus hero. Would he ever have that kind of selfless courage? He had no idea, but he wouldn't let Megatron hurt anyone else.

The Matrix sent out a pulse of appreciation quickly followed by urgency, and he instinctively knew who it had come from. Optimus was wordlessly telling him to get a move on, but was also telling him he appreciated the concern and respect for him, even though he was no longer physically there – thanks to Megatron. In a sick twist of fate, that sick monster had finally managed to kill his rival.

He was surprised to hear himself growl, and it wasn't like his old voice. Well, it was because he still sounded like himself, but it sounded a lot more, well, growly. There was a low, almost grinding noise in the very back of his vocalizer reminiscent of Onyx's own growling voice. It made him sound a bit older.

He got back to his pedes once more and activated the Phase Shifter, the wrist-mounted device shining a ghostly turquoise in response. Just before he phased out of the cavern, he turned back to the gunmetal grey shell lying within. His bubbling anger died away, only to come flaring back with a vengeance. Liquid fire burned through every circuit and fuel line in his body. He didn't see his own optics ignite with blue fire of their own.

"I'll come back for you. Promise." he vowed.

And just like that, he was gone, leaving only dust, stone, and the dead behind.

* * *

It felt strange to be back out under the sun's rays after being underground, and it felt like only minutes ago he'd been sneaking around out here and around the dark halls of Megatron's super fortress. Hot afternoon sunlight streamed down onto the desert sand, heat rising up and forming shimmering mirages. Well, if anything this expanded space would give him some room to test out his new alt. mode. Judging by his animalistic appearance, it probably wasn't a vehicle anymore.

"Here goes nothing..."

He concentrated and activated the new T-Cog inside him, feeling it respond and send out the transformation code sequence. Instantly his body began to fold over on itself, morphing and changing. A long, whip-like tail tipped with a retracted in tandem with a long neck topped with a helm that was very reptilian in appearance, the maw full of wickedly sharp fangs. Paws replaced his hands and pedes, each digit tipped with razor sharp talons resembling serrated daggers. Finally, a pair of leathery wings unfolded from his sides, their mesh membrane bright blue in color.

' _No way! I'M A DRAGON_!' Infernus thought ecstatically. Okay, technically he was a Predacon, but hey – he looked like a dragon, so he was a dragon. Actually, he'd read a few data pads on Predacons published by researchers. Hadn't they had a designation for this type? A Draconian? Yeah that sounded about right to him.

He bounded forward in an attempt to run only to stumble almost right away. ' _Okay, not used to running around on all fours_...'

Then he spread his wings out to get a better look at them. They were huge, their span longer than his whole body length. They were translucent too, kind of like a bat's were. What made him most happy was their color – Autobot blue, just like his optics. If he hoped to fight Megatron in the air – and he most likely would have to – he would have to learn to use them, and fast. He didn't have weeks or days or even hours to learn. No, if he wanted to survive the fight with Megatron, he would have to learn to use them this very instant. He didn't have time on his side.

Readying, he took off running across the hot desert sand, claws digging into the grainy sediment and propelling him forward. He pumped his wings and was ecstatic to see himself life off the ground and glide clumsily for a few dozen paces, but he wasn't able to actually get in the air. Frustration began to bubble inside him. Was flying really so hard? He'd seen hawks soar around the base a few times. It looked so easy!

He let out a little mental yelp when his body lurched around of its own accord, breaking into a smooth sprint. When he tried to move his legs he found they didn't respond to him. He seemed to have lost control of his own body. What the scrap was going on?! Had the Matrix possessed him or something?!

' _Do not struggle, boy. Do not fight me. Learn_.' Onyx's deep, growling voice spoke into his mind.

His pace continued to increase the more he ran forward. After gaining enough speed and momentum, his wings snapped out to their full width and pumped down hard against the air rushing beneath them, making the sand eddy and swirl into tiny dust devils. Just like that, he was airborne. Looming in the distance was the great dark form of Darkmount, the fortress's black metal a stark contrast to the reddish-golden sand on which it sat.

And Onyx was heading him straight for it. It looked like he would be learning on the fly.

' _Can I pretty please have control of my body back_?' Infernus demanded, growing anxious. ' _You're kinda freakin' me out here._ '

' _Not until these motions have been stored in your memory banks.'_ Onyx hissed back in a strangely kind-yet-autocratic tone _. 'Per request, I will not send you into battle without at least some preparation_.'

Infernus relaxed a little on hearing that. It seemed like Optimus had finally gotten his way with the others, had at last convinced them to help him adjust to his new form. He paid close attention to every movement of his wings and body, storing them away in his long-term memory. He had to admit to himself that Onyx was a slagged good flier. Every one of his movements was fluid, graceful, almost dance-like.

Apparently satisfied after a few minutes, Onyx's control over him receded, leaving him flying hundreds of feet above the ground, but he wasn't afraid. Slag, he'd jumped off the Nemesis once before without wings, so he wasn't exactly afraid of heights. But he was afraid for his friends, and that lent speed and strength to his wings, and stoked the fire of revenge that was beginning to flare inside him.

Megatron had taken away his idol. He had taken away his mentor, forcing him to take up his ancient mantle before he had really been ready. He had taken Optimus away before he had seen the end of this War, had taken him away from his unit – his family.

And he was going to pay for that. Pay in full. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but some day soon he would know Death.

With a screaming roar, Infernus raced towards the fortress that was growing ever closer.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Uh oh. He's pissed. Run, Megatron! RUN!**

 **Edit: Someone pointed out that Onyx sounded a bit funny, so I went back through and edited his dialogue. Need I point out, Kaleia, that I don't own the Covenant of Primus myself, and that this is a "What If" story, so again - I'm allowed a teensy bit of leeway. But I altered it just to make you happy. :P**


	3. Chapter 3: Mercy of a Child

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 3

 **Fire of Youth**

* * *

Chapter 3

 _Location: Skies Beyond the Fortress of Darkmount_

 _Exact Geographic Coordinates: 39.911365,-117.539185_

 _General Region: Jasper, Nevada, United States of America_

 _Time: 1600_

* * *

Vengeful fire burned through every circuit and gear and wire of the fledgling Prime's frame as he drew nearer and nearer the great black spire of Darkmount in the distance. His inner fire was only further stoked by the presence of those held within the Matrix itself. Only the gentle warmth of Optimus kept his righteously furious spark fire from evolving into hate and blood lust, but even then it was only just barely contained. He knew words would not solve the issue between Autobots and Decepticons. He knew that the latter faction only ever responded to violence. It was a case of kick and then kick back in his opinion.

He felt a strong pulse of caution from the device within his spark chamber. Thoughts percolated into his mind that were not his own, but those of another. However, he did not know whether these thoughts were stemming from one of the Primes or Primus himself. It was slightly unnerving, but the line between the two parties seemed to be blurred in the sense of psyche and spark. There was no true distinction between them. The other awareness admitted that he did have a point, but it also argued that by responding with violence, would that not simply breed more violence? Wasn't that how the War had started – one act of violence paving the way for another, and another, until it appeared that the only way to end it was through fighting?

Infernus growled both aloud and mentally. He was not interested in having a philosophical debate right now with whoever this was, even if it was Optimus. He had a team of friends he needed to save, and debating the origin of the War was not going to speed that task along or further that goal in any way. It was the moment at hand that mattered to him. This could be discussed at a later time when his friends' lives weren't hanging in the balance.

' _Smokescreen, do not let your grief and anger over my death cloud your judgement._ _You feel that the old human saying "an eye for an eye" fits very aptly here, and there are many, many fallen who agree with you. I know you feel that Megatron must pay for his act, but I am begging you – whatever you do, do not stoop to his level. Do so and you become no better than him. Revenge is not the way of a Prime._ '

The fire inside quelled somewhat on realizing his own emotional error. His own fire had threatened to consume him, and Optimus had forcibly stopped it from doing so with some very pointed words. Granted it was still raging inside him, but he understood now that it _would_ consume him, consume him utterly and completely, if he continued to feed and stoke it with his own desire for retribution. Contrite, he apologized.

' _I understand you are still grieving. But rather than feed your fire with a thirst for revenge, fuel it instead with a sense of purpose. Bring justice to not only myself and fellow fallen Autobots, but the millions of innocents and even Decepticons who have lost their lives over the centuries. You embody fire, true, but you cannot_ – _and frankly must not_ – _allow fire's destructive tendencies to overwrite the restorative second nature it possesses._ '

Yes. He remembered the echoing, thundering words of the Thirteen. Fire destroyed, it scalded and burned everything in it's path until there was nothing left but ash and bones and the dead. But it also healed. It brought light and hope and even new life. Focusing on that, along with the shreds of the spark-aching vision from earlier, he forced his roiling spark fire to simmer down to a low yet steady and strong burn. He felt a pulse of approval. No thoughts accompanied it. There was no need for them.

He would avenge the fallen Prime. He would avenge all those who had died before their time had come over the course of this War. But he would not, no matter what happened, stoop to Megatron's level of brutal savagery to accomplish it. He was better than that. He was not a seeker of revenge in spite of the still existent urge to end Megatron's life in payment for the lives he had ended. No. He, Infernus Prime, was a seeker of justice.

And justice would be served before this conflict was brought to an end. Yes. In one way or another, it would be served. He was certain of that.

* * *

Darkmount drew ever nearer, Infernus's spark fire blazing stronger the closer and closer he got. But he was aware now that he had to think tactically, not rashly. If he made a mistake here then his friends would pay for it with their lives. He'd lost one friend today. Never would he forgive himself if he lost another. And while he couldn't see any of them quite yet, the faint but steady flares of the Matrix told him they were in fact nearby. Huh. He'd no idea the thing acted as a kind of spark locator. That might come in handy later on.

Earth's host star was beginning to lower down towards the horizon, and it gave him an idea. It wouldn't conceal his life signal, but it might conceal him visually – at any rate for a time. He just needed a brief opening to land a surprise attack on Megatron, whom he knew was at the top of the spire lounging on his throne. A hunch told him that Starscream would be there as well if he hadn't chickened out already for one reason or another.

He re-positioned himself accordingly. The setting golden-orange sun behind the fledgling Prime ignited his frame with light while also helping to conceal his approach to those monsters held within the spire's protective and heavily armed walls. It worked, and then some. His fiery-accented white color scheme reflected a lot of light and made it even more difficult for any 'Con observers to get a good look at him as he closed in on the fortress's upper story. He knew Megatron was there. He could sense a profound darkness lurking up at the spire's peak. But he could also sense light – familiar light he had not sensed in ages.

His spark fire re-ignited with a vengeance.

* * *

Megatron had to admit that the Autobot forces he had thought were dead and gone were very tenacious and quite resourceful. Employing the human three children's cellular devices to lure a good fraction of his forces away from his citadel had been clever. Of course Starscream hadn't seen through the childishly ingenious ruse in time, but he had managed to stop the Seeker before all of his forces had wound up scattered across the face of this planet. But they were also foolish and desperate. Launching an assault on his citadel with so few resources and mechpower – even with the recent additions of Ultra Magnus, Prowl, and Bluestreak to their ranks, along with Magnus's ship – showed that this was a last ditch effort to try and tip the scales back in their favor. Brave, but in the end doomed to failure. As such, he was not worried about his chances of victory. They had re-reinforcements? Well, so did he. His came in the form of Shockwave and a cloned Predacon. And while the latter had been trickily groundbridged to the arctic by the Autobots, he still had Shockwave.

He could retrieve the frozen beast at a later time after this pathetic little world was theirs. He was not worried. Especially since Ultra Magnus himself, Commander of the feared Wreckers and faithful lieutenant to Optimus Prime, was presently pinned under one of his pedes, battered and beaten but stubbornly refusing to give in even with his promise of a quick, relatively painless termination. Prowl and Bluestreak were down below with the remaining members of Optimus's squadron and at the mercy of his ground troops and Shockwave. They were beaten.

Internally the warlord chuckled darkly. If Ultra Magnus had failed, what chance did they have? They had no leader. They had no home. They had no Prime to bring them some small semblance of hope. His victory was assured. Any who stood a chance against him were already defeated. Without a leader even the most tight-knit group would shatter.

He jerked his gaze upwards when he caught sight of something flash in the sky. Starscream apparently observed it as well and moved over closer to the edge to get a better look at it. The Seeker's red optics narrowed along with his own. Whatever it was was fairly large and coming in fast. At the moment that was all that could be determined – the setting sun was making looking directly at the encroaching object difficult and mildly hazardous. As it got closer though they could begin to pick out its sharp, angular, bestial appearance.

"The Predacon?" Megatron guessed uncertainly.

Starscream hemmed: "Hmm. Definitely beast-y enough..."

Megatron then observed the grey Seeker visibly flinch back as though in surprise and fear, red optics widening in disbelief. His wings lowered and twitched anxiously. He sensed the Seeker's field suddenly retreat into his frame as he let out a barely audible but startled hiss. He heard him say five words that set the confident warlord on edge:

"I know that color scheme..."

The sound that came immediately afterwards made the warlord tense in anticipation. It was a mighty, screaming roar reminiscent of the Predacon's very own that seethed with primal anger and hatred. In spite of his confidence he felt his spark twinge with the slightest hint of fear. He knew that this was most definitely not Shockwave's cloned beast he had brought with him and that had been recently lost. No, this was something different – something far more dangerous and infinitely more volatile. Instinctively Megatron unsheathed his massive arm-mounted blade.

Still neither was able to get a decent look at the incoming creature, hiding as it was in the setting sun's glare. Powerful and adaptive as their optics were, staring at a star for an extended time frame could easily cause permanent damage.

An infuriated, murderous voice howled over short band radio: * _MEGATRON!*_

The next few seconds were a blur. He felt something large and heavy slam into him with the force of an angry city-former. Jagged claws raked down and across his armor, tearing it apart as though it were nothing more than a thin sheet of aluminum. Sharp fangs dug into his shoulder armor, breaching a main line underneath with disturbing ease. He felt himself lifted off the ground and then flung at his throne which crumbled at the massive impact. He remained motionless in the rubble, dazed. What had just happened? And moreover – why had that voice sounded familiar?

With a snarl he re-emerged from the wreckage of his throne. Starscream was presently engaged with a large white, fire-accented draconian beast-former who was easily pounding him. Missiles were proving to be next to useless against the beast's thick armor plating, and all the Seeker was managing to do was aggravate it even further with them and his blaster rounds. One swing of its spear-tipped tail sent Starscream flying off towards the edge of the open-air chamber, dented, leaking, and disoriented. The Seeker doggedly pushed himself to his knees only to find the white beast glaring at him murderously. He tried to say something, but his voice came out only as an undignified whimper.

* _Leave. Now. While I'm still feeling generous. Consider yourself lucky. If I didn't have Optimus in my head telling me not to, I'd give it to the urge to kill you right here, right now. You deserve nothing less, you lying coward. Now scram._ * it growled coldly at him over short band radio.

Starscream didn't argue. He nodded shakily, transformed, and shot off. Megatron could fend for himself. He was not about to die at the hands of an angry Predacon. Megatron would no doubt punish him for his act of abandonment, but such an outcome was far preferable to termination. He had survived such physical punishment before. A tactical retreat was in order in his mind. He would get the troops ready to leave should this fight go south for any reason.

* * *

Infernus turned his attention to the murdering warlord standing in the ruins of his throne. He saw the symbolism of the moment, and appreciated it wholly. Maybe it wouldn't happen today, but this mech would fall soon. But today – today he would ensure that his black tower fell. He would ensure his friends survived and he would ensure this planet survived.

He stood there glaring at him for a few brief moments in silence. Megatron stared back him, appraising him in that haughty manner of his, obviously trying to figure out why his voice and color scheme were familiar to him. Every circuit in his body was screaming at him to charge now and rend him apart, but he was better than that. He didn't give in to the urge, powerful as it was. This monster who stared back at him didn't deserve the easy way out. Not today. He'd put him out of his misery at a later date. Then his metal hide prickled as Megatron laughed in realization, a dark laugh that made his spark roil in rage. He knew. He knew his age old rival was no more. He was facing the Prime's young successor. This was laughable! His enemy had handed the Matrix to a mere child!

"So it would seem I finally succeeded!"

Infernus snarled. Oh, the desire to simply kill him in the most agonizing way possible was starting to look very, very tempting right now. And what was more, he knew such a feat wasn't impossible with his new upgrades. Megatron's shoulder and chest were now riddled with gashes and cuts that leaked still-warm Energon. He could even smell the sour taint of Dark Energon in the blue fluid.

* _Come on! Too scared to fight me, 'Con?!_ *

Megatron's laughter stopped abruptly. It was Smokescreen's voice alright, but the sheer anger and hatred in his voice caught him off guard. The newly named Primeling was grieving over his recent loss still, but rather than sound morose or depressed about it he sounded downright murderous – enraged to a point that startled him. Smokescreen's personality had undergone a rather drastic shift. If anything, he was behaving more like a Predacon. This was suddenly more interesting.

"You wish to fight me, youngling? Very well. But know this – you will not have the advantage of surprise this time."

With that, the warlord charged forward with a snarl of fury, swinging his blade at the white dragon. Infernus pulled back to avoid the strike, swiping and snapping at the swinging blade, using his tail as a counter-balance to keep in one place. He feinted to one side, Megatron falling for the combat trick only to realize his mistake and make up for it. They continued trading blows in a savage dance of death until Infernus faltered at long last. Pressing his advantage, Megatron slashed at the beast's neck and then fired off round after round from his cannon, pinning him in place and allowing him to prepare for the killing blow effectively unmolested.

Megatron smirked. Foolish of him. Even with his upgrades he had never stood a chance. His emotions were impairing his combat abilities, and he was still adjusting to his new form. He didn't even know how to use his fire breath. He was a child dragged into fighting an adult's war.

He aimed the cannon at the beast's helm, purring darkly: "Perhaps I should reunite the two of you. Let me put you out of you misery."

Infernus snarled, blue optics burning with a fire all their own. But the onslaught from the cannon had left him weakened, not to mention his hide bore numerous leaking cuts from where Megatron's blade had found its mark. He was stronger now, but that didn't make him entirely invincible. He was just as mortal and vulnerable as he had been. Megatron's smirk only grew. Rebellious to the end, like all of his Autobot allies. He would not go down quietly. He would go down fighting. Admirable to say the least.

' _Summon your fire, boy! Use it to force him back!_ ' Onyx barked.

Megatron took note of an increased heat signature coming from the prone Primeling. His red optics narrowed in suspicion only to widen in shock as fire engulfed Smokescreen's body. The Primeling's wounds sealed up as if by magic as he watched. He reared back up onto his hind legs instantly afterwards, baby blue wings flaring out. In that moment he looked very much like a large reptilian phoenix, or perhaps a young Herald of Primus. A ball of roiling fire formed in his chest and rapidly rose up his neck. His fanged maw opened.

* _THIS IS FOR OPTIMUS!*_ Infernus screamed.

Megatron didn't have time to dodge out of the way. He howled in pain as a great whirlwind of flames surged towards him and swallowed him whole. He fell to his knees, his pain receptors overloaded from the fire. When the flames finally receded he found the Primeling looming over him, snarling and growling. He looked more than ready to rip him to pieces. It would seem he had underestimated him. He knew better than anyone that anger lent strength. His strategy of taunting him into a blind rage had painfully backfired.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Finish me off. Take your revenge." Megatron hissed. "I'm at your mercy. End it. Optimus would."

At that the Primeling reverted out of his draconian form. His expression was oddly blank, a small frown of what almost looked like disapproval forming on his lip-plates as he watched. Only his blue optics still burned with his barely contained and fiery rage.

"No. He wouldn't. He wouldn't kill you. And here's the funny thing: _I_ would. I could end this war right now by snuffing you out. It's literally only him that's keeping me from doing just that. So I'll give you one opportunity. Leave. I'm bringing this place down. Get out. Get out of my sight while I'm still bothering to listen to the slagging hero _you_ killed."

"You will regret this decision. Mark my words, boy. You will be joining him before this war ends."

" _Get. Out. Now_. _You're lucky I'm letting you live after what you've done._ "

Megatron snarled, but got to his pedes nonetheless. He barked an order for the forces within Darkmount to pull back and regroup at the Nemesis. They were about to lose this battle. Any left inside the fortress would fall along with it. They had not lost the war. They had merely lost a single battle. There would be countless other opportunities to eradicate the Autobots in the future. This war would be won, and it would be won by the Decepticons.

Infernus stood back and observed the Decepticon forces surge towards the docked Nemesis warship. He activated his own comm. link and sent out a wordless transmission to the few other members of Team Prime he knew where there to get out of the fortress as fast as they could, using the cyberglyph that stood for "leader" to get them to listen. For now he would let them believe that it was Optimus speaking to them. If he spoke it would only cause confusion. He would explain the dead Prime's decision over him later when they were all safe. That is, if he could bring himself to recount the events. His spark still ached horribly.

He went over to the prone form of Ultra Magnus and set about helping him to his pedes. He looked pretty banged up, but he knew the mech was sturdy. Once certain he could stand on his own, he switched back to beast form and gestured with his helm for the mech to head over to the edge of the open-air chamber. Ultra Magnus took the hint and called for his ship, then radioing the human soldiers under Agent Fowler's command that Darkmount had been seized successfully, and that their Air Force could attack unhindered. They were free to begin the assault that would bring the spire down.

Ultra Magnus then turned to the white Predacon that had saved his life. A glance was shared between the two. He sensed this was a leader he was addressing, but a leader who was uncertain and required a bit of guidance.

"Below. I will ensure everyone is gotten safely away." Magnus said. Then he leaped into his waiting ship.

Infernus nodded his helm sharply, unfurling his wings and taking to the air not a moment later. He flew out into the open skies, banked around and then dove towards the story just below the one he had come from. Just as Magnus had said, the power cores for the fortress's massive fusion cannons. A few remaining Vehicons were still stubbornly guarding them, but they were dealt with in short order. He ensured their deaths were quick and painless. In his mind they were more or less innocent. They had not been cause of the Prime's death, not directly. They were just underlings who obeyed the will of their dark master blindly. Perhaps death would give them some sense of freedom before it was their time to return, remade. Hopefully when their sparks did return, war would be a thing of the past.

Defenses dealt with, he thus turned his attention to the power cores. Mercilessly he unleashed another firestorm at what looked like the main one. Intelligence from the Matrix told him that destroying one would result in a domino effect explosion that would remove the others, and when it began to spark and rumble and shake he bade a hasty retreat back into the skies. He knew that Magnus had gotten the Autobot forces out in one piece. How he knew this was something he couldn't answer.

He watched in silence as a squadron of advanced fighter jets roared in from the north and fired their cargo of missiles at the spire's main base supports. He watched as the tower shook and groaned in protest and began to crumble before his optics, collapsing like a house of cards until there was nothing left but twisted metal and wreckage and smoldering fires. He watched as the jets banked around and headed back to the Air Force base they had come from, mission complete, threat neutralized.

Such a sight should have filled him with acute satisfaction. In the past it no doubt would have. Darkmount was no more. The Decepticons were once again on the run from the small but effective squadron of Autobot resistance fighters. Earth was just that much safer from them now. He should have felt happy about that. But he didn't. He felt no satisfaction over the victory. He felt no happiness, no accomplishment, no harmlessly brash pride. Nothing.

He just felt...empty.

* * *

Infernus followed the Commander's ship and its fighter jet companion – whom he suspected was piloted by Agent Fowler – deeper into the Nevada desert. Below them drove Bumblebee, Wheeljack, Arcee, and Bulkhead. Each seemed curious and wary of his form overhead. He couldn't blame them. He didn't exactly look like the friendliest being in existence.

Out in the distance he could just made out the smoldering ruins of Jasper. He devoutly hoped that none of the inhabitants had been killed in in the all-consuming wave from the fusion cannons. If any innocents had been harmed or killed that was just one more reason for him to put an end to Megatron's reign of terror – for good.

Ahead and drawing rapidly closer was what looked like an expansive military base. Hangars and low buildings were dotted about a massive complex. A small number of military vehicles were scattered about in the open, and the fighter jets who had bombarded Darkmount were at the moment being rolled into their hangars by their pilots and some fellow soldiers.

Magnus's ship veered towards one of these hangars, simply labeled "E", but this appeared to be devoid of occupants. At first glance, anyway. Infernus's scanners were picking up one Autobot life sign plus four human bio-signatures – Jack, Miko, and Raf probably, plus Jack's mother. It seemed this hangar was for them to use as they saw fit. It was no Omega One, but it would have to do. At least they had some means of outward defense here, unlike before. However, it wasn't exactly hidden either.

He let the ship land first and release its three occupants before diving down himself. He landed rather clumsily, wincing at the hard impact. He definitely could've done that better. Landings were something he'd have to work on, obviously. He was somewhat happy to see Prowl and Bluestreak, but laboring as he was under the recent grief he just couldn't bring himself to feel truly happy.

He waited hesitantly at the hangar entrance, unsure of whether to enter. When placed under the examinational scrutiny of the occupants he took a nervous step back. They were going to figure out who he was, he just knew it. Then they would ask what had happened to him, why he looked so different. And then they would ask about Optimus. What he supposed to tell them? That he wouldn't be coming home, ever? That he was one with Allspark? He couldn't bring himself to say that. He couldn't bring himself to say either of those things. He was afraid if he did they might be mad at him, consider him an imposter – or worse, accuse him of lying.

"Who are you?" demanded Prowl.

He flinched back. He could detect the icy suspicion in his voice – suspicion he knew they all harbored.

' _Easy, kid. They're not gonna yell at ya. Just tell them. They need closure._ '

Humph. Easy for _him_ to say. _His_ neck wasn't on the line here. _He_ was safe and sound inside the Matrix.

Bumblebee was the one to finally recognize him. His optics whirred softly as they widened in shock: * _Oh, Primus_ – _SMOKESCREEN?! What happened to you?! Where's Optimus?!*_

Rather than respond, he simply lowered his helm guiltily and sent out glyphs for death and mourning to the gathered assembly. This was followed by the ancient, near-sacred glyph that meant "Light Follower". Then he spun around and stalked out into the evening air. He couldn't bring himself to tell them aloud. They would read the glyphs right and connect the dots. It would hurt too much to tell them. It still hurt.

He didn't belong with them, not anymore and not now. He was no Optimus. He could never hope to be. He just wanted to be left alone with his pain.

He found a quiet place around the back of the hangar. He coiled into a semi-circle posture on the ground, his helm resting on the cement. A few coolant-laced tears trickled out of his optics. His body trembled ever so slightly under the storm of emotions he hadn't afforded himself to feel earlier – pain, loss, guilt, remorse, and most of all – unworthiness. There was no way he could ever hope to fill the Prime's massive pedeprints he'd left behind. He was...just inadequate.

There was a pulse of comforting warmth from the Matrix. It helped dispel the imperceptible trembling, but if anything it only made the tears flow faster. He knew it was Optimus trying to soothe him and calm him down. Eventually though the coolant ducts dried up and the soft crying came to a stop. He suddenly felt exhausted beyond words. His optics shuttered of their own accord.

' _Get some rest.'_ Optimus urged gently. _'I will alert you if anyone approaches._ '

He gusted out a faint sigh, not fighting the power down protocols firing through his processor like lightning. ' _Thanks._ '

Slowly the world around him fell dark and silent.


	4. Chapter 4: Fire of Acceptance

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 4

* * *

 _Location: Area Fifty One, Hangar E._

 _Exact Geographic Coordinates: Unavailable_

 _General Location: Twenty-seven miles outside Rachel, Nevada_

 _Time: 2100_

* * *

Infernus's power down was not restful. His tormented spark and processor assaulted him endlessly with manifestations of his own uncertainty.

He was caught in the middle of a raging storm, no comforting land in sight for as far as his optics could see. Stinging acid rain remorselessly pounded against his hide and seared his thin wing mesh and burned his sensitive optics. Lightning struck harrowingly close to his body, each strike soon after ushering in deafening claps of thunder that rattled the sky and made his audial receptors shriek and protest. No light penetrated the dark clouds swirling above him. He couldn't see anything that might herald the end of the acid storm. It seemed ready to rage until the end of time itself. His wings burned from the acid droplets slowly but steadily eating away at the thin, delicate mesh. His hide stung for the same reason, and his optics fritzed from the acid seeping into them. He shook his helm to remove the droplets to no avail. His sight was failing and it was nearly pitch black in every direction, the only illumination coming from the lightning bolts striking ever nearer his body.

Finally, one them connected with his right wing, frying the circuits to a crisp in a fraction of a second and making him howl. The acid rain pelting the thin mesh seeped into the open wounds both attacks had caused at the same moment, his pain receptors overloading from agony. He screamed as he plunged towards the burning, endless ocean of acid below him. He screamed for someone to help him, to make the nightmare stop. He screamed for Optimus, for Amalgamous, even for Primus to come and get him, to simply take him away from the pain.

But no one responded, and the storm raged on as ferocious as ever. With an agonized, terrified cry he plunged into the endlessly churning acid sea below in a titanic spray of water. Then the hungry waves swallowed any evidence of his submergence. Thunder clapped and lightning flashed, and the gale force winds howled ever onwards.

For a moment there was nothing. Infernus felt himself slowly sinking into the scalding acid ocean, his mind wandering in an effort to drown out the agony of the substance eating away at his plating bit by bit like a cruel carnivore tearing away at its still living prey. He could see nothing but darkness and could feel nothing but processor-numbing pain. He simply wanted his spark to go out, just to escape it all – to escape the grueling pain he was suffering. He wanted to die. Why couldn't Primus let him snuff out already? Was it really too much to ask for?

However, his optics seemed to heal of their own accord despite being bathed in acid, and he took note of a pale silvery light shining higher up in the dark waters. A faint but steady and soothing song was coming from it like a soft heavenly chorus. He felt some of the pain fade, but he still hurt terribly, both internally and externally, and he was still sinking deeper into the depths of the acid ocean. He knew he could kick and pump his wings to swim up towards it, but he just couldn't find the strength to. He was limp – limp from pain and loss and uncertainty.

The silvery light above seemed to sense and understand his plight. Thin tendrils of light sprouted from it and spiraled down towards him, wrapping around his limp limbs and wings like gentle anchors or life lines. He felt more of the pain fade, but even then much of it remained. He let them slowly lift him up towards the surface, finding himself unable or perhaps unwilling to struggle against them. He wanted to be brought to the surface just as much as he wanted to sink back into the dark, bottomless abyss below.

A familiar, ancient voice spoke into his mind gently: ' _You are weak, little ember. Your fire dims._ '

There was no malice in the words. It was not intended as an insult. There was only kindness and sympathy and understanding. It was simply an observation, an accurate observation. His desire for revenge that had burned so strongly earlier had been drowned out by his desire to just fade into oblivion, to let someone else carry the burden that was the Matrix of Leadership. He felt he was unworthy to hold it. He was too young. Too inexperienced. Doubtless there were others way more qualified to be holding this thing than him. Frack, couldn't he just give it to Ultra Magnus maybe?

' _I know you feel that way. But let me ask you something, and do not reply back right away, as I want you to consider this: What is it that keeps your fire burning? What is it that gives you cause to live, rather than to wither and fade? What drives you?_ '

Infernus remained silent as he mulled these questions over his processor. The burning of the acid on his hide had stopped, and now the water was cool and refreshing. It was beginning to clear as well, to become less murky and dark. The raging storm and howling winds above quieted. Images and scenes flashed in an out like phantoms in the water all around him. No, not images. They were memories, _his_ memories to be exact. Some of his lighter and happier memories. Memories that made him smile mentally, even if he couldn't physically.

 _Omega One a week or so after his arrival. Jack, Miko, and Raf were darting around the open command center with remote controllers in their hands, racing little model cars around while Bumblebee kept a watch on them to ensure none of them got too close to the cantankerous and often prickly medic Ratchet as he performed some basic but necessary calibrations to the groundbridge arch the team used to get around. The scout himself was, regardless of that task, egging his tiny, spectacled human friend on to victory over his older companions. All three children were laughing and playfully taunting one another. Smokescreen lurked in the entrance of one of the corridors, smirking as he silently observed._

 _The scene shifted, this time going farther back. He was in the Hall of Records during some of the final days of the War on Cybertron, wandering the lower levels as an assigned guard to the master archivist, Alpha Trion. He had suspected the job to be tedious and boring, as he would have much preferred to have been out on the front lines defending Iacon from the Decepticons encroaching on the city. But he had been surprised that such had not been the case. He found himself fascinated with some of the volumes he plucked out at random, and the older mech had encouraged such curiosity. The guard job had...actually been surprisingly fun in a way._

 _When he failed to find the data pad he had begun skimming through the other day, he turned on hearing a faint sound. Sitting there on a nearby table was the data pad he was looking for, and a note had been typed on the front:_

 _~Found this in Political Philosophy. Would it kill you to sit still for a few cycles, or at least keep better track of the volumes you take without my knowledge?~_

 _-Alpha Trion_

 _*Please put this back where it belongs when you are done with it, or failing that return it directly to me._

Infernus chuckled weakly, only to wince slightly at the sharp ache the slight movement caused him. Alpha Trion hadn't exactly called him out on that occasion, but it had convinced him to be a bit more orderly and respectful towards the data pads – and the master archivist – in future. The tendril anchors around him brightened almost in motivation, silently telling him to keep looking back and searching, telling him to grasp onto these memories and use them as the reminders they were, soothing coolness further healing his many acid burns.

 _He was inside the laboratory of the Nemesis, restrained to an exam slab while Knockout preened and gloated just out of reach. A sudden idea came to him, and he played along with Knockout's words. The vain red mech took the bait in all innocence, sauntering over to him without the least suspicion and preparing to reconnect the cortical psychic patch and tear through his mind to find the location of Omega One. Knockout jerked when he felt a hand latch onto his wrist and activate the Phase Shifter, comprehension dawning on him too late._

 _"Worse how?"_

 _After a struggle Smokescreen had found himself sprawled in one of the halls, Knockout stuck in the wall they had phased through, snarling and snapping at him when he smirked and held up the Phase Shifter to him in smug triumph: "Well, aren't you the clever one?" he snarled, trying in vain to extricate himself. "This ship is miles in the sky and swarming with Decepticons! Do you really think you can escape?"_

 _He got up from the floor, ensuring the device on his wrist was still active, and tossed a sly, impish look at the red mech: "Who says I'm lookin' to escape?"_

 _With that taunting, suggestive hint, he darted off down the corridor, Knockout unleashing an aggravated, snarling howl after him as he struggled in vain to free himself from his impromptu prison._

That moment had honestly filled him with acute satisfaction that bordered on smugness. There was a certain ironic poetry about the red mech being caught in the walls of his own laboratory. He had seen a distinct similarity between Knockout's imprisonment and the cursed crew of the dreaded Flying Dutchman in the "Pirates of the Caribbean" films. It was their fate to eventually become part of the ship after entering a bargain with Davey Jones to escape death, their bodies merging with the vessel until they were effectively trapped in their places. At least, that's what it reminded him of anyway. Miko had shown him those films, and he'd enjoyed them.

 _He was running, running through the ship in a full-on sprint, two stolen Omega Keys in his hands, darting around corners, through walls, and through various chambers and rooms that comprised the mighty Decepticon vessel. Eventually he made it the small runway atop the ship that the flight-capable members of the small army employed. Wind whipped past him as the Nemesis surged ever onwards through the skies. He drew near the edge, but hesitated. Megatron and a slew of his underlings finally caught up with him, the warlord himself sneering on realizing his predicament._

 _"A pity you are incapable of flight."_

 _Defiance flashed in the youngling's optics as they flicked behind him and then back at the Decepticons. He smirked back:_

 _"Pfft. Yeah. Like I'm gonna let that stop me!"_

 _Storing the keys in a convenient nook between his doorwings, he turned about and ran the short remaining distance to the edge. And with no hesitation he leapt off the vessel and into the open skies. The scene shifted then to a point a few minutes further along, showing him sneaking out of the underground cavern he had phased inside of to survive the lethal fall from miles up in the air. A moment later he vanished into a waiting groundbridge and into the command center of Omega One, revealing the relieved expressions of everyone within. Then this memory strand faded away like the others before it had done._

That day he remembered well. That had been strangely fun despite the dangers. He had also been glad to see that the members of the Prime's team were beginning to accept him as one of their own.

 _Then the scene shifted one last time, but his perspective this time around appeared to be a bit different. He was no longer looking out of his own optics or viewing himself in the third person, rather he seemed to be looking out of the optics of someone else entirely. He felt he was taller, and he felt stronger, yet he could that strength beginning to fade, and fast. And he felt tired, so very tired, and it wasn't a physical kind of tired. It was a tiredness of spirit. His whole body ached, too, pain lacing up his limbs from the countless wounds that dotted his frame._

 _He was lying in the underground cavern, helm resting on a slab of stone behind him. As he lay there, he felt a surge of warmth spread out from his chest and into his battered, weary limbs. Then it happened again, this time the warmth forming what felt like a little tendril and reaching into his sputtering spark, soothing it and the owner. No longer did he feel afraid. No longer did he feel the pain of his wounds. He only felt a sense of pure bliss and peace. His optics shuttered, only to reopen again after a time. He felt the tendril again, felt it wrap around his spark as gingerly as a child's hand would. He was not afraid. He knew what was coming. He knew what awaited him in the next world and the next life._

 _'Come, my faithful one. It is time. You no longer need to fight. You may rest now._ '

 _He was not afraid, and he felt no pain when it happened._

With that final vision the flashes of memory came to an end. Still Infernus found himself floating in the water, suspended by the tendrils, but now he felt strangely content. The waters were calm and near crystal clear now, and the storm clouds had dissipated to reveal a brilliant golden sun shining above in the blue sky. His pain was still there, and most likely it wouldn't go away entirely, but it wasn't as bad as it had been before.

He knew then. That last vision had been of Optimus's last moments. They had not been scary, or pain-filled, or saddening as he had thought. He had left without fear and without pain. He had met his end peacefully, with help from Primus through the Matrix. He had not been fearful, he had been content, happy. That was a relief. After everything he had been through over the centuries, he deserved a peaceful death, and a peaceful afterlife. The gentle Prime had deserved to lay down his weapons and his helm at long last and sleep.

He heard a faint, thoughtful, yet serene and peaceful hum in the back of his mind. The tendrils tightened their grip ever so slightly, and their brightness increased. He was then lifted from the waters and into the clear skies above, but the tendrils didn't release their grip on him. Now he could see the pale light that had saved him from the abyss. It was blinding white, made of blazing starfire, and exuded an aura of peace and tranquility. He knew who it was then. His cry for help had in fact been heard, and by the highest authority – Primus himself. He was torn between feeling immensely grateful, utterly terrified, and completely awe-struck.

Then he heard a faint sound reminiscent of rolling thunder. Hearing the deity laugh was unexpected, but the sound alone lifted his spark further. It was a wonderful noise to hear. It carried joy and amusement and mirth and so many other positive things. Evidently he found his confusion on how to react to his presence amusing. Another tendril extended down to him then, this one touching his chest plating right above his spark chamber. A wash of fatherly warmth filled him as the Voice spoke again:

' _I see. Remember these moments whenever you feel your fire dim. Cherish them as one would any valuable, keep them close to you spark. Use them to rekindle your fire when you feel it begin to fade. Can you do that for me, little ember?_ '

Well, that would probably be harder than it sounded right about now, but he nodded and said he could do it. Eventually.

The tendrils around his limbs and wings tightened in a strange embrace. However, they still did not release him. The white starfire sphere simply held him in the air, letting comfort flood the Primeling's senses as it steadily healed the remaining acid burns and other physical damages he had suffered thanks to the raging acid storm. He sighed softly, his tense body relaxing to where it was almost limp. His optics grew heavy, but he wouldn't let them shut. He wanted to be aware to savor this interaction, knowing it wouldn't happen often.

In response, yet another tendril extended down, touching his cheek gently and then drawing up to his optics, coaxing them shut.

' _Rest now, little ember. Rest now without troubles. Know that you are loved by all who know you._ '

Infernus never felt himself lowered back down into the clear, shallow waters below. He never saw the sphere of white starfire draw closer to him and eventually sink into his body, he never sensed the warmth it held spreading out from it and into every circuit and wire within him, eventually settling into his spark. He never felt or observed or sensed any of these things. He was already unconscious, lost in the grip of a dreamless power down now no longer plagued by terrors of the night – terrors conjured by his own mind.

He did, however, feel content and relaxed. Even, perhaps, a little bit happy. And he did, very briefly, sense a familiar and wise presence nearby – watching, guarding, and most importantly, comforting.

* * *

In the waking world, the sun had finally sunk below the distant horizon and stars were now beginning to dot the sky, and a waxing gibbous moon cast down streams of pale silver light. Nocturnal insects were beginning to sing their nightly songs into the crisp desert air. A spare few fireflies blinked in and out of existence as they flew around what little shrubbery existed in the parched desert.

Hangar E's interior was in a state of silent turmoil. No one dared speak a word and so focused on ensuring the new, smaller base they had been supplied with was in full working order, trying as best as they could to distract themselves from the grief and loss. They simply did not want to believe the shattering news even though they knew that it was true. Every so often a young military officer would pop his head in to check on them, but he never stayed for very long. He felt the hangar was suffocating from sadness. He knew what it stemmed from. He had read the report written up by the one called Prowl and had then handed to his superior, Federal Special Agent William Fowler. Private Daily's heart had went out to them on reading it:

Optimus Prime, the mighty leader of the Autobots, whom he had actually seen on one occasion, was no more. He had died saving them and this world from Megatron. And his team, his unit, were understandably devastated. They hadn't just lost a leader. They had lost a father figure.

Private Marcus Daily once more withdrew his head from the hangar and headed out. On an impulse he decided to go around to the back of the hangar in order to cut across back to the barracks. When asked later why exactly he decided that he would be unable to answer them honestly or even fully. He just felt that he had to go that way, no questions asked. It was a short cut, but not by much. It was just a sense that he decided to indulge.

He rounded the corner of the hangar's south side and then stopped in his tracks at he saw. He blinked once, eyes going round afterwards. It took a moment to realize what he was looking at. He idly wondered how he missed this thing the last few times he had come around the hangar. It was bright white and looked very much like a robotic dragon, and it was curled up in the same manner of a sleeping cat. Its chest rose and fell steadily, its eyes shut tight. Once in a while it shifted slightly, folded wings twitching imperceptibly.

Curiosity got the better of him and he tentatively approached the sleeping beast. While it looked powerful and dangerous, he got the peculiar sense that it wasn't either of those things. It looked more...sad and lonely, if strangely peaceful. But then, everyone who was asleep and not suffering nightmares looked peaceful. There was an odd dark stain on the cement near the creature's head that held a faintly sweet smell. This was a smell he was familiar with – engine coolant. Where exactly had it come from though? Was the Cybertronian injured?

He started when the beast began to move more. Its head lifted a few inches off the ground, and its eyes flickered open to reveal their vibrant baby blue hue, but they seemed a bit on the dull side. It looked at him for a moment before laying its head back down on the cement in a rather apathetic manner. If ever a robotic alien dragon looked worn out and depressed then this one certainly did. Any trace of wariness faded then and was replaced by sympathy.

A youngish sounding voice spoke over his handheld radio communicator: * _Come to gawk at the beast?_ *

Private Daily shook his head. "No, not gawking. I was headed back to the barracks and just stumbled across you by accident. I…well, I wasn't exactly expecting to bump into a giant white metal dragon of all things when I rounded that corner. What's your name? I don't think I've ever seen you before."

* _Smo-Infernus Prime._ *

So this then was the Prime's young successor that Prowl's report had mentioned. "What are you doing back here all by yourself, Infernus? Why aren't you with the others?"

Infernus gusted out an exhausted, somewhat guilty sounding sigh from vents located on his neck. His voice came out as a mere mumble: * _Hiding. Avoiding them. What's it look like?_ *

This baffled him to no end. He was hiding from his unit, the unit he now held command over? "Why are you hiding from them?"

Infernus did not respond, merely gusting out another world-weary sigh, his blue optics fading and dulling before shutting again. His air intakes seemed heavy but also strangely shallow. He could almost feel the grief and sadness coming off the alien in subtle waves he could just barely feel and that made his skin tingle ever so slightly.

Daily had read of reactions like this concerning the loss of a loved one. The person wanted nothing more than to sleep without end as a means of escape from the emotional pain of their loss. All they wanted to do was fade away into an unending dream, and would be contented if they simply never woke up from it. But he also knew that avoiding living loved ones did more harm than good. Interacting with those who cared for you did wonders to help with depression. Infernus, in his personal opinion, needed this interaction badly, but was too upset and or nervous to go near them, fearful of a possible backlash.

Then the Primeling responded: * _I'm not Optimus. They won't accept me. Better I just stay away from them._ *

Marcus Daily made his decision then and there. This poor young E.T needed some help, and he would help him however he could. And he would start by getting him back in the company of his squadron.

"If I came with you, you know, as a support, do you think you could go in and talk to them? Hiding out here in the dark is not doing you any good. Staying out here is just giving your mind and heart more and more time to brood and grieve. You can't just sink into that. Optimus wouldn't want that. You're not the only one hurting, you know. They are, too. We all are, damn it. We thought the guy was invincible. He'd want you to go in and give them some solace. It's what he would do."

The young Prime's blue optics reopened to gaze at him in mild astonishment mingled with curiosity. No doubt he was wondering why some random military officer whom he had never met before in his life was so openly offering him his aid. He was also probably wondering how the heck he knew about the dead Prime in the first place. Autobots were known to the government and certain branches and sections of the world's military, but were a heavily classified secret and as such not known to many people not privy to the information.

He seemed to come to a decision then. His head bowed in acceptance to the man and then he rose to his paws, reverting out of his dragon form. Daily was struck by how young he looked, but also by how old he looked as well. His body looked young and athletic while his eyes showed he had aged in mind, his spirit weighed down by the responsibility he now held and the grief of his loss.

"I...guess I can try to."

Daily smiled faintly at him. "That's the spirit. I'm not forcing you to go, but it'd be good for you if you did. It'd be good for them as well. They need some closure. I think you do, too."

Infernus nodded weakly, still looking depressed and reluctantly nervous: "You lead, I'll follow."

* * *

Private Marcus Daily poked his head into the hangar once more, asking whether or not it was okay for him to come in. He said that he didn't want to feel as though he were intruding or anything. He added that he had brought someone with him, having found him hiding 'round the back of the building. It seemed he'd been too scared to step foot inside, fearing a backlash of some form from them.

At that the young officer was permitted inside. And then he gestured for whoever it was that had come with him to follow him. However it took a bit more verbal encouragement on his part to convince whoever it was to come out of hiding. He had a feeling they knew who it was, judging by the anxious yet relieved expressions on some of the aliens faces.

Very reluctantly, a white and fire-accented mech stepped out of hiding and stood on the edge of the hangar's entrance. While his frame was hardly recognizable any longer, altered as it was, they were still able to recognize his blue optics and his unique electromagnetic field. It was Smokescreen alright, and the tenseness of his body showed he was bracing himself for an attack of some kind. He looked wary, nervous, and ill at ease.

One of the aliens, a very young looking mech colored grey and pale blue, got up from the floor where he'd been quietly interacting with Bumblebee and the three kids and rushed over in a blur of movement, cannoning into the Primeling enough to make him stagger slightly. But he wasn't attacking him. He had grabbed the white youngling in a fierce brotherly embrace and it seemed he was not about to release him any time soon. But Infernus didn't really return it. After a few moments he was gently shoved away.

"It's true then?" Ratchet asked, voice cracking. "You're...?"

Infernus nodded numbly, refusing to meet the medic's optics. He knew how close he and Optimus had been, friends before the War had ever even started. To know that his friend would not be seeing the end of it, at least not here with him, was certainly painful for him. He debated turning around and slinking back out, but a glance down at Daily showed the human eyeing him sternly. He was not to run. He had to face them.

"You guys have every right to hate me. I'm not him. There's no way I can replace him."

He was stunned to see that everyone, Autobot and human alike, was looking at him in varying degrees of utter shock.

"No one hates you, Smokescreen." Ultra Magnus said, his tone losing some of its former ice. It was noticeable enough that some of the Autobots cast surprised looks at him.

He ignored them. Right now, he was the closest thing the youngling had to a mentor concerning leadership skills. He would be needing him more than ever, and maintaining his detached, professional manner would do nothing to help ease him into the role. It was what his older brother would've wanted from him. His old command style would not work with a tight-knit group such as this. Transitioning out of the style he had used on Cybertron would be difficult, as it was old habit by this point, but he would do it.

"You...You don't? None of you?"

"Optimus chose you for a reason, and we'll all abide by his decision. To ignore it would be to disgrace his memory, and that is something none of us in good conscience will ever do."

There was a low murmur of agreement. Infernus's wariness abated somewhat, and drew further inside the hangar. When he looked down to check for the friendly Private he had befriended on such short notice, he was rather surprised to find no one standing there. Only the faint whiff of detergent mingled with automotive fluids leading away from the entrance told him he had bade a quiet retreat to the barracks as he had stated he had been meaning to do.

' _I owe you, Daily. I owe you big._ '

* * *

 **Author's Note: Yeah, the emotions are going to be running high for a while until Infernus settles into the role. And I decided to throw in a sort of character nod. Anyone remember Private Daily from the episode "Grill"? The guy holding the camera that was perpetually low on battery? I figured there was more to his character and made him a kind of young counselor to him. He deserved some love. :)**

 **Note 1: College starts Monday, so my updates might not be as frequent as I settle into the groove. Damn it I'm scared silly about this! o_o**


	5. Chapter 5: Laid to Rest

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 5

* * *

Infernus honestly wished that the friendly Private had stayed. He still felt like an imposter leader despite the assurance that no one hated him, and the young human had somehow helped dispel his lingering self-doubt by his mere presence alone. That man had helped just by slagging standing there and encouraging him to face the dead Prime's team which he, by a cruel twist of fate, now commanded in his place. He had encouraged him not to run despite every circuit in his body screaming at him to hide in shame.

Oh, how he wanted that man back here now. He really, really did. Having him here would make interacting with the others just that much less frightening and awkward. But he did realize he hadn't left out of malicious intent. It was growing quite dark out, and humans by nature were diurnal. Poor Private Daily (he'd seen the human's ID tags) was probably just tired after a long day's worth of training and other tiring, strenuous activities.

The Primeling chuckled weakly in his mind. Heh. That was something any member of the military, human or alien, could sympathize with. Military life was pretty slagging physically demanding compared to other, more mundane or laid-back career choices. He knew that himself. The Elite Guard training camp, while degrading to nothing more than a boot camp by the time he'd gotten into it, had still been very demanding. He'd let the young human get a decent night's sleep before bothering him. He could survive without him till the morning. It was the least he could do in repayment for his random act of kindness. He could probably find him in the barracks or elsewhere around the military compound in the morning if the urge grew powerful enough. All he had to do was follow that unique whiff of detergent and automotive fluids he had smelled that clung to his uniform.

Yeah, he'd sniff him out later. Right now he had to be there for the devastated but accepting squadron that had so very recently been taking orders from someone so much more experienced. He still felt inadequate. He had no previous practice in leading a team. He was new to this.

' _Smokescreen, remember that I am still here should you ever have need of me._ '

In spite of himself he winced slightly, curbing another flood of mingled grief and gratitude. Even in death the Prime was still willing and happy to help him, tutor him, and guide him. He was still willing to answer his many questions no matter the time of day, no matter how silly or inane they sounded. And he was grateful that Optimus was insisting on calling him by his old name rather than by his new Prime name. It helped somehow. His new name...it would just feel wrong if Optimus said it, and it seemed like he was aware of that.

He just wished he would be able to actively help him interact with his former squadron. He hadn't the faintest idea how to, much less command them in battle.

' _They know you already. You already have interacted with them before now. In that regard nothing has changed. And no one is asking you to give orders quite yet. Ultra Magnus would be happy to step in as a temporary leader until such time as you feel you are ready to let him teach you. It is always best to ease into a role unfamiliar to you. For now simply help them through this difficult time. Be there for them._ '

Infernus hesitated mentally at the words. His words were encouraging, but he still felt daunted by this seemingly straightforward task. What if he said something wrong? What if he broke down in front of them?

' _You have no reason to be afraid of them, Smokescreen. You have no reason to hide from them. They understand that this is hard for you as well, perhaps even harder than they believe. None of them could ever hope to understand the burden you now carry, but none of them will ever show true animosity towards you. All of them view you as a link to me. They will all treat you the same way they treated me_ – _with respect._ '

An almost inaudible sigh escaped the Primeling's vocalizer. He knew Optimus was trying to be encouraging. He knew he was trying to get him to be less uptight about this whole task of offering condolence to the grieving team, but uneasiness still plagued his spark regardless of the dead Prime's soothing tone. He was still afraid he might botch it up horribly.

' _Come on, kid. No sense hidin', you know. You know these 'Bots. Just talk to 'em. They won't bite._ ' said Amalgamous.

But still he found himself unable to speak. All he could do was stand there just inside the hangar's threshold, optics abruptly shifting between those of his squadron and the eyes of the humans, never able to maintain visual contact for more than maybe half a second at a time. He just...still felt like he didn't belong in such a position, or anywhere near these 'Bots. There was still a distinct sense of illegitimate usurpation writhing inside his spark, slowly wrapping around it like a constrictor serpent, crushing his confidence bit by bit.

Then, suddenly, it strangely felt as if a hand took hold of that slithering snake of self doubt and very gently attempted to loosen the grip it had over him, and he actually sensed it loosen. He felt, suddenly, a little more sure of himself. Who it was that had done it he had no idea, but he knew somehow that it hadn't been Optimus. It had been someone else. Who though?

' _Self doubt is the great killer of leaders, Smokescreen. Allow it to take hold and it will consume you until there is no confidence left. We have confidence in you. Try having some in yourself._ ' A wise, learned voice said.

He recognized the voice. Alpha Trion's. Mentally he offered the intelligent old archivist a smile and nod. His timing was always something to be envied, and he still owed him another thanks for arguing in his defense before the reformatting. It was nice to know that he had three Primes looking out for him.

' _Thanks. That helped._ '

' _Of course. Now, go on. Talk to them._ '

He took a steadying intake of air and took one further step into the hangar. While the uncertainty was still there, it wasn't as strong as it had been a few moments before. Maybe he could do this.

"Um..." His voice quavered in spite of his best efforts.

Mentally he slapped himself in embarrassment. So much for a good start. He was making himself look like a half-witted fool already. Wonderful. Just peachy. Infernus valiantly fought the urge to slink away and hide again, preferably someplace where they wouldn't be able to locate him, all the while wishing Daily were there. He was honestly debating charging over and pleading for the man's presence on bended knees, uncaring if it made him seem a bit childish. That urge was just growing and growing with every passing second, snowballing further on noting all the optics and eyes focused on him.

Then he sensed a subtle wash of warmth and an encouraging pulse. This time he knew it was Optimus, and like Alpha Trion, the little spiritual nudge helped to steady his jangled, frayed, and skittish nerves. Oh, he would owe these mechs so many slagging favors by the time this over and done with. It actually hurt a little to know that the two held such high hopes for him when he personally felt such faith was unfounded and frankly idiotic.

Why would anyone sane put so much faith in someone so inexperienced and unready? No one answered, much to his annoyance. Was that question going to go forever unanswered? Or did they think he was astute enough to find the answer himself?

Bluestreak took a step towards him. Uncertainty now ruling his reflexes, Infernus took a step back to counter it, wariness beginning to swim into his optics. It wasn't that he didn't trust his youngest spark sibling, but he just didn't want to disappoint him. The young, talkative gunner had always held him in high regard when they'd been growing up – not as much as the studious, stern Prowl, but still pretty high, being the second oldest of the three. He recalled he had gone wild over his getting accepted into the Elite Guard. He had cheered when he'd been assigned to guard the master archivist in the Hall of Records, being much more ecstatic about it than he had been at first. Disappointing Blue...it might crush him.

So when the young gunner once more took another step towards him and reached out, he didn't jerk away, nor did he try to remove the hand placed on his arm. But he stubbornly refused to meet his optics.

"Smoke...W-What happened? W-Why do you look like that?"

It was surprising to see the gunner, who was normally a chatterbox to rival all chatterboxes, so at a loss for words. If it hadn't been for his emotional volatility and recent grief and nightmare, he probably would have laughed aloud at such an impossibility. But instead he finally lifted his gaze and met that of his youngest sibling, his blue optics dim and somber.

"Because the Matrix reformatted me. Optimus picked me to stand in his place. He...He didn't survive the destruction of Omega One. His injuries were too severe."

Bluestreak's innocent blue optics widened. Smokescreen saying that meant that the Prime truly was not going to be returning. He was gone, merged with Allspark, sleeping the rest of the war off. He hadn't wanted to believe it earlier, but now he had no choice but to believe it. No one had a choice but to face the facts, having the awful news said aloud as such.

Ratchet, endeavoring the quell his grieving, trembling spark, asked: "Do you know where – ?"

He didn't even get to finish his question before Smokescreen replied back quickly, his voice a mere mumble: "Yeah. I'll...head there in the morning so you can groundbridge there and...retrieve it. I'll need to phase you in. There's no entrance."

The medic stared in dawning comprehension. Smokescreen had rescued the dying Prime from the rubble of Omega One, against his orders for no one to come back for him due to the risk of possibly being followed, and hidden him in a place where the only means of entry were explosives or a Phase Shifter? That was...noble of him, not to mention clever. No doubt if he hadn't disobeyed him, Megatron or one of his cronies would have found him in the burning wreckage and dragged him to Darkmount, or quite possibly killed him on the spot as painfully as possible.

Whether he was aware of it or not, the youngling had ensured his friend had met his demise peacefully, hidden away from the violence. And for that he was eternally grateful. He deserved nothing less for such a selfless sacrifice of his own life.

"There's...also something else there, too. Needs to be brought back before the 'Cons realize the thing's missing form their vault. Knowing my luck, they probably already noticed it's not there. Hopefully it's deep enough underground they won't be able to get a lock on the signal. I made sure there weren't any tracking beacons on it, but I'm not gonna let them get their hands on it again. We need it. Optimus explicitly told me to get it from them."

At that every pair of optics locked onto him curiously. He had stolen something from the Decepticon's vault? What exactly had he taken from them? A weapon? An artifact? He seemed anxious to retrieve it, but why wait until morning then? Wouldn't it be better to go and get it now? Or...Realization hit them then. He was probably hesitant to return to the site where the Prime's body was, wanting a bit more time to come to terms with it.

"Smokescreen?"

The Primeling looked up at the old medic, met his optics for the first time. Confusion warred with anxiety in the youngling's optics. Gratitude flooded those of the healer, and those of others kept safe within the hangar's metal walls whose lives had been saved many times first by Optimus, and now recently by his successor. The darkness of despair had threatened to overtake them at Darkmount, and he had arrived and re-ignited the fires of hope that had been fading within them.

"Thank you. For...for doing what you did for him."

A faint ghost of a smile worked its way into existence on the Primeling's faceplates. "I just...did what I thought was right."

* * *

The hours of the night ticked by at a seeming snail's pace, but now the hangar was no longer forcibly silent. Voices spoke quietly to one another about supply levels, resources, the occurrences at Darkmount, and fond remembrances of some of the moments they had shared with their old leader. A rare laugh or chuckle would occasionally intersperse the murmurings and reminiscences as they recalled instances that now seemed funny in hindsight – their suspicions of him during the Nemesis Prime issue with Cylas and MECH, his and Arcee's odd conversations while they had been trapped in the Arctic, Fowler's loud mouth and seeming disrespect towards him, and many more.

Questions were gently pressed onto Smokescreen, leisurely and without force, such as what his new name was and what the reformatting experience had been like. Smokescreen (now apparently Infernus Prime) was surprisingly toned down about the experience, but also expectantly joking about it in a wry yet light-sparked manner. Yet despite that, his old sense of sparkling-like humor didn't seem to have quite returned. No one found it unusual. They knew he was still recovering and coming to terms with his new role, as they all were. Everyone assumed that as soon as the initial grief had passed and he started to settle into the role his humor would return. At least, they hoped it would.

When morning finally came the skies were grey and overcast, warm golden sunlight only occasionally peeking through the somber cloud cover. It was if the heavens themselves were mourning the loss of Optimus along with them. But those little rays of sunshine also seemed to reflect the shared feeling that he wasn't really gone, merely elsewhere. It was as if those little golden, warming rays were his way of saying not to grieve for him, but to stay strong and keep going.

Miko, despite the rush of fleeing the original base, had managed to nick her electric guitar and was perched on the second story catwalks that rimmed the hangar's interior. Fowler and June, with the help of a few friendly military officers during the course of the night, had set up a small lounge area for the kids to use, as well as the adults should they ever need it. Needless to say, the three kids had taken to it instantly.

The spunky, adventurous Asian teen was sitting on the back of the sofa, strumming the strings in a manner totally at odds with her normal style of playing – the notes were sweet, soft, and melodic, quite unlike her typical brand of shriek metal. Rafael and Jack puzzled as to what song she was playing. They quickly figured out that she was playing "He Lives In You" from the Lion King II, even if it was hard to recognize the marimba notes on her electric guitar. Idly they hummed the moving lyrics in their heads. Once she was done with that one the key signature shifted to a more rock and roll beat, and they easily recognized it as Nickleback's "If Today Was Your Last Day".

Those two songs were surprising to hear from Miko. Her taste in music seemed to have suddenly evolved. Or perhaps she was more music genre savvy than they had originally thought, or maybe the tragedy had made her veer towards more soulful, meaning songs for the time being. Whether or not she would revert back to her typical brand of shriek metal once the first grief had passed...

"Um, Prowl? Ultra Magnus? Bluestreak?" Infernus asked rather shyly.

All three looked at him: "Yes?"

"Uh...you guys got vehicle disguises yet?"

All three shook their heads in the negative.

"None of us really had the chance to get one we arrived. We pretty much got here and – boom! Instantly part of a last ditch attack to try and get the Decepticons running again. I mean, it's not like we had the chance to grab one on the go or anything. Commander Magnus landed the ship out in the middle of nowhere on a back road. That's where we found Arcee and her human friend. Nothing for kliks and kliks in any direction, just fields of plant life. No vehicles going by on the roads anywhere. Not even sure I could call that thing a road. It was all gravelly and –"

"Bluestreak." said Prowl.

The young gunner winced: "Sorry."

Oh, how Infernus had missed Bluestreak's babbling on about anything and everything he had seen or was thinking. It was enough to bring a faint, fond smile to his faceplates. Bluestreak could lighten any moment with his sparkling-like behavior.

"Well, you're gonna need disguises when going around outside this place. That was Optimus's rule, and kinda Fowler's rule, too. We need to stay under the radar, especially in populated areas like cities or towns. That's just the rule we have to abide by, so vehicle modes are kinda essential to getting around without getting the humans suspicious about us. You're each gonna need one."

Prowl nodded understandingly. "How would we acquire one? We cannot go out in public like this, according to you. How are we supposed to acquire a new alternative mode if we cannot be seen by the general populace of this planet?"

"I think Fowler might be able to help with that? Or maybe Raf or Jack or Miko. Any of them could help. Fowler's got government clearance, so he could probably put in a requisition order or whatever it's called once you find one that works. You guys do that and I'll...go with Ratchet to...you know."

"Alright."

All three newcomer mechs nodded before turning and walking out into the open, dry air of the Area 51 military base, heading towards one of the low buildings that acted as an office to government officials and high ranking military officers. That was where Fowler would be if their knowledge of human militaristic customs was accurate.

Infernus let out a barely audible sigh. He hadn't thought he'd be able to pull off giving an order, and thinking back on his words, they had honestly sounded more like a request than a direct order. It had sounded like the way Optimus would've given and order – politely, asking rather than demanding.

He felt a pulse of approval from the Matrix, and the former Prime rumbled proudly:

' _Indeed. The essence of a good leader is to not hold or think himself above those under his command. A good leader must understand the quality of humility, and not only humility, but empathy as well. Those are things Megatron abandoned and forgot once his lust for power overtook him. Always remember that these few Autobots, and frankly all Autobots, are not merely soldiers, but friends whom you can always rely on. As they follow you, protect you, so must you listen to them and protect them in turn._ '

' _I will. Promise._ '

A pulse of trust made him feel as though the Prime had laid a hand on his shoulder. He could almost imagine him smiling gently as he said: ' _I know you will._ '

He then turned to face Ratchet, and both mechs shared a grievous but knowing glance. Infernus had given his solemn oath that he would return for the dead Prime's body, and he had no intention of going back on his word. They couldn't just leave his body there in that cavern system. That wouldn't be right. He deserved a proper burial.

Unwilling to speak aloud, Infernus opened a private comm. link to the medic: [I'll fly ahead to the...the place. I'll comm. you once I get there.]

Ratchet merely nodded, pain and gratitude flickering in his optics. He was appreciative of the youngling's sense of inordinate respect, but also sympathetic to the pain and heavy responsibility he was laboring under. He knew, better than anyone present, how much of a struggle a Prime first went through. He had been there to help Orion adjust to the near-sacred role, and by Primus he would be there to help Smokescreen, too. At the very least he owed the loyal youngling that much.

Infernus cast one last look at the old medic before heading out into the open air, reverting to his draconian beast form. Silently he took flight and headed off into the distance, a stray ray of sun igniting his white armor and turning it fiery orange and yellow. Then that single ray of sunlight was swallowed by the grey clouds and the ignition of color dimmed to normal. Soon enough his form was lost to the distant horizon, white metal hide melding with somber grey cloud until the two became one and the same.

* * *

The Primeling kept his north-westerly heading, focusing on the smoldering remains of Darkmount, its previously intimidating black metal twisted and warped beyond recognition. His keen olfactory sensors picked up the tang of spilled Energon, telling that a small number of Vehicons had gone down with the fortress, or perhaps the smell was coming from the ones he had slain and that had not been obliterated in the military's assault of missiles.

He felt a pang of pity for them, these dead, nameless troopers lying torn and broken in the rubble. They had simply been obeying orders like any good soldier, and they had paid for it with their lives. But at least now the nameless mechs were beyond material pain and suffering. Right? Or were they doomed to wander to the living world as phantoms, unable to find their way home? Did they, loyal Decepticons, guilty of murder and other such horrific crimes, really deserve such a bleak fate of an afterlife he wondered? His answer came instantly, and it surprised him:

No. They didn't deserve such a fate, regardless of their acts in life. They deserved a chance at happiness, at peace.

' _They made it, right? To the Allspark?_ '

' _Onyx recieved them. They are safe and at peace. That is his domain, after all_ – _Guardian of the Dead. He was the first to enter the Allspark, but physically rather than in spirit as all those after him would. It is his task to show the dead the way, to guide them to their rest after they have left their shells. However, his domain does not extend to fellow Primes. When a Prime perishes, they are brought to the Matrix by Primus himself._ '

So did that mean when his spark extinguished...

' _He will come for you, yes._ ' said Optimus softly. ' _As he came for me._ '

Infernus lapsed into mental silence, a tremor of reverence passing through his body as he banked sharply towards the low rise that betrayed where the hidden cavern system was to be found. Tucking his wings in, he dove down towards the ground, his landing this time around not nearly as rough. For a moment he stood there, gazing at the low rise as if in a trance. Then, with a faint sigh of what sounded like acceptance, he opened a comm. link back to Ratchet.

"Ratchet? I'm there. Lock onto my signal and 'bridge over."

[Understood, Inf-Smokescreen. One moment.]

Seconds later a groundbridge swirled open to permit the old medic, the portal closing afterwards to reduce Energon consumption. With their Energon stores from Omega One blow sky high during Megatron's attack, they had to be careful with what little they had left until they could acquire more of the precious fuel. No doubt Raf was the one left in charge of the controls.

The Primeling reverted out of his beast form swiftly, jerking his helm to the low rise behind him.

"In there." was all he said.

Ratchet nodded mutely, his expression spasming as a fresh wave of grief washed over his spark. He let Infernus lay a hand on his shoulder and lead him through the stony low rise into the hidden cavern that acted as a temporary tomb for the body of his old friend. What little light reached them from the skies was quickly replaced by the darkness of the underground. He let his optics adjust for a brief second, and when they did he emitted a muffled, choked sound from his vocalizer at what he saw.

Lying there, his body gunmetal grey and heavily battered, was Optimus. Seeing him in such a pitiable condition made his spark wrench painfully in his chest, but the pain faded somewhat on noticing the serene, content smile on his faceplates. The dead Prime looked...tranquil, even strangely happy. It seemed he had known he would not leave this cavern alive, and he had been at peace with that. He had accepted, willingly, his inevitable demise. He had been ready.

Once more he silently thanked the youngling for ensuring his friend had met his end without fear or pain, sequestered away from the endless violence he had grown so tired of. Such a peaceful death was no more than what he deserved. And knowing his friend, he had every reason to believe he was watching over them. Death would not hinder his protectiveness, and he knew, partially anyway, how the Matrix worked. Smokescreen was a walking link to the former Prime. He was, in effect, his optics and audials, his means of keeping watch over them from beyond.

Infernus shifted uneasily. He wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. This place, and the sight of the dead Prime, was making him uncomfortable. But they couldn't leave until they figured out where to bury him. Dragging his body around everywhere would seem hugely disrespectful, so it was best to make one trip of it.

"Yosemite." he heard Ratchet murmur.

"Huh?"

"Yosemite National Park. That was where he went whenever he had spare time. Something about the place just seemed to draw him. Putting him at the base of El Capitan, I think, would be fitting. That was one of – one of his favorite places."

Infernus nodded. It would be fitting, considering the Spanish name of the granite formation meant "The Chief" in English. Optimus had indeed been the chief of the Autobots, a figurehead for the entire Autobot cause, embodying what it meant to _be_ an Autobot – mercy, compassion, empathy, humility, courage, and fortitude. And so now would he.

He shifted back into beast form, keeping his wings tucked against his sides. In this cramped space, their massive span would engulf the section of cavern he was in. He bowed his helm to Ratchet before approaching the lifeless grey shell, letting the medic help him get the Prime's body onto his back for transport, slightly extending his wings to keep it from sliding.

[Let's go.]

Ratchet put a hand on his semi-extended wing, and together they phased out of the cool, hidden cavern and back out into the dry, hot air of the open desert. As soon as they were a few paces away from the low rise, the medic opened a comm. link back to the hangar, requesting a groundbridge not to the new base, but one to Yosemite National Park, specifically one to the base of El Capitan. The boy answer back shortly that he would send one, and in moments the swirling green vortex yawned open in front of them.

With a look up at Ratchet, Infernus shifted his cargo slightly and trudged in, the medic following close behind him. Once over the event horizon, it snapped shut behind them. Above, the grey cloud cover began to give way to brilliant, golden sunlight and blue skies. A golden eagle cried out in the distance, the predatory avian's high-pitched keen washing over the desert landscape like a final, parting call before fading away into oblivion.

* * *

Ratchet and Infernus worked quickly, the Primeling using his dagger-like claws to tear into the stone and soil of the granite formation's base. It was no mausoleum as would've been befitting of a Prime on Cybertron, but Optimus had never been one for grandeur or spectacle. Optimus had viewed himself as merely a soldier, and so a soldier's grave seemed fitting.

They completed the burial in short order, but Infernus was not content with such an unmarked tomb. He wanted a means for appreciators to be able to find the tomb, but also not give away its location too obviously. An idea came to him then.

Using his fire to super-heat one of his talons, he carved a simple hieroglyphic symbol into a granite boulder nearby. It was an ancient symbol, one only very rarely used in the modern day and age – an artistic-looking spiral with three calligraphic dashes on the outer, upper arc. The definition of such a cyberglyph was simple:

Life Eternal.


	6. Chapter 6: Fire of Compassion

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 6

 _*Note: I know I forgot to have Ratchet and Infernus grab the Forge, but toting one massive object around is easier than toting two. The reason the doc didn't see it is because Infernus "hid" it by phasing it into the floor just before leaving to assault Darkmount, which I forgot to write in._

* * *

Ratchet and Infernus watched as the super-hot symbol he had carved cooled to a deep grayish-black shade, their sparks still heavy with grief, yet at the same time they both felt strangely contented in mind. Optimus's body was safely concealed beneath the ground, hidden away and safe from nefarious tampering. Megatron would never think to look for the body of his age old rival here, in the rugged wilds of the planet he detested with a passion. Their old Prime could sleep peacefully now, not having to worry about his empty shell being desecrated or disturbed.

With a soft noise, the Primeling lay down near the simple, symbolically marked gravestone he had just made, his helm resting on the granite boulder. He let his optics half-way close as he listened to the whisper of wind through the trees, the calls of birds, and the very faint rushing of water as it cascaded down a waterfall close by. He desperately wanted to stay here for a while, appreciate the natural beauty of the place. He could understand now why the Prime loved coming here. This place, it acted as a kind of reminder of what he fought for. It was a place to come and clear one's helm, to relax and unwind after a difficult day.

Infernus made his decision then, that he would come here regularly, to appreciate the beauty of the land and to pay his respects.

Idly his helm bobbed up and down slightly in a nod, and his vocalizer emitted a low, pleased rumbling sound. Yes, that sounded perfect. He'd do that.

A gentle wash of warmth told him that Optimus or maybe one of the others was content with this self-imposed policy of remembrance and respect. For all he knew it had been Primus himself who had sent that wash of warmth. He was still coming to terms with the concept of a portion of the deity's very life force being contained within him. He was also getting used to the notion of "Primus" and "Prime" being oddly interchangeable in terms of psyche and spark. They were different, yet also in a sense the same.

Ratchet looked on, blue optics somber and sympathetic. Smokescreen was looking much better emotionally, but he could still sense his sorrow, his reluctance to accept Optimus's death. Yet, as he watched, he distinctly sensed the youngling's field brighten, become stronger. Glyphs for hope and appreciation and respect and strength flooded the Primeling's field like a raging wildfire. He forced himself to his paws, turned to face him. Blue fire burned in his optics, fire fueled by determination and a need for justice rather than by a blind thirst for vengeance. His baby blue wing mesh, too, seemed to brighten.

It took the medic aback somewhat, this sudden emotional turnaround. But it was also a promising sign. He was steadily coming to terms with events, even if deep down he didn't want to accept them. It would take a while he knew, but eventually he would settle into the role he'd been put in, and they would all be there to help him adjust, not to mention Optimus himself was probably helping him through the Matrix along with Primes of the past. He had every reason to believe his old friend had been the one to convince Smokescreen not to give in to the urge to kill Megatron and Starscream when he'd had the two at his mercy.

* _Come on. We're done here. We gotta get back to the cavern and get that other thing Optimus told me to filch from the 'Cons vault._ * Infernus urged. * _I'm not about to let him down by letting the 'Cons snatch it again._ *

Ratchet nodded, appreciating the Primeling's sense of responsibility. He had changed from the mischievous, over-eager youth who was constantly getting into trouble that had arrived a few months ago into a young adult who took his tasks and responsibilities seriously. He had matured since gaining the Matrix, grown older in mind. He still had his trademark boundless energy and more than a hint of impatience, but it was more controlled than it had been in the past. It was almost as if he were afraid of showing too much emotion.

But why? There was no danger in showing one's feelings, especially when one was recovering from a recent loss. Or _was_ there a danger brought on by his new form? According to Ultra Magnus's report from the throne room, Smokescreen had behaved like a mech possessed – almost completely taken over by sheer, primal hatred that bordered on outright murderous rage. That had been quite unlike the clever, mischievous, but inherently honest and kind youngling that the medic had come to know. Smokescreen had seemed more than ready to slaughter both Starscream and Megatron without any hesitation. Something (more likely _someone_ ) had stopped him, convinced him otherwise, but he had still found that drastic shift in character frankly disturbing.

If he showed too much emotion, as he had at Darkmount, would something...regrettable happen? Would he, in effect, _become_ those emotions, embody them? Was that why he seemed so oddly toned down? Did his bestial form render him emotionally volatile? If so, that seemed almost unfair to the Primeling, a design flaw. The young weren't meant to be dampened in such a manner, especially not the vivacious Smokescreen.

Shaking his helm slightly, he endeavored to push these dark musings from his processor. He could ponder such things at a later date, when there wasn't still an ongoing mission to complete. Smokescreen was right – they couldn't allow Megatron to reacquire whatever it was he'd stolen from the Decepticons. Risking his spark to get it would've been for nothing, then, not to mention that finding the warship now, much less sneaking aboard, would be equally risky, and perhaps far more dangerous.

They'd lost one Prime already. Ratchet was not about to let another one die.

"Rafael? Could you open a groundbridge to the previous set of coordinates? There is one last thing that we need to retrieve from the cavern."

[On it.] His voice was slowly starting to sound less tight and clipped, but no doubt it would take time for it to return entirely to its normal bright, inquisitive, and yet childishly innocent tone that the medic had come to appreciate and, yes, even adore. Out of all three humans, Rafael had seemed to have taken the loss of Optimus the hardest, being much more sensitive than his two older companions.

"Thank you. We'll be back shortly with whatever it is that Smokescreen stole."

He could almost envision a tiny, genuine smile form on the tween's lips as he replied back: [No problem. See you two in a bit. Stay safe.] Then the communication was severed, and moments later a groundbridge swirled open before them, bidding them enter into its turquoise depths.

* * *

Returning to the shallow rise in the desert landscape a second time around, Infernus felt far less uncomfortable. His hesitation to enter the cavern, borne of the grim but peaceful sight within, had all but vanished, and he phased through the rise willingly while the amber and white medic waited outside for him.

He let his optics quickly adjust to the gloom, an odd sense of release twinging in his spark. The hidden cavern didn't feel...well, it didn't feel _burdened_ any longer. It was no longer weighed down and made haunting and dreary by the presence of the serenely lifeless form they had so recently laid to rest. To him, it was just a regular – if still somewhat dingy and dreary – underground, desert cavern now. It wasn't...it wasn't _dark_ any more. It felt safe and relatively normal now, though still a bit on the depressing side.

Very quickly he slunk to one side of the arched tunnel that the Prime had met his end in, shivering slightly as a sudden chill nonetheless passed over him when his gaze dropped onto the outcropping of rock where Optimus had so recently lain against. He shook his helm firmly, determinedly. That was all done with now. He was here for another reason, an even more important reason. Not that he hadn't been important, but the future of an entire planet and its race? Now _that_ was important.

He activated the Phase Shifter with a touch of his snout and let his front paws and helm sink below the ground. For a brief moment he panicked when he didn't at once lay hands on what he was looking for, but after a second he felt his forelegs bump into something. Satisfied that it was still there, he reverted out of beast form and plunged his hands in, gripping onto the handle of the Forge and lugging it out of hiding with a faint grunt.

Infernus sat the Forge on it's head and simply looked at it for a minute. Solus really had been a master smith. Her Forge was both aesthetically pleasing and highly functional. The same went for the Star Saber and the other Prime relics. Functional, but with an artist's flair to them. Each was stylistically unique, telling of the femme Prime's creative genius far better than mere words ever could. She truly had been an expert in her particular craft.

' _Well, I'm glad someone finally takes notice of all the hard work I did._ ' noted a familiar female voice, sounding irritated but grateful. He recognized it as the femme Prime who had spoken just before his reformatting – Solus, the Maker.

Infernus managed a slight, wry smile. "You're welcome."

' _Use it well, Primeling._ '

Nodding and vowing he would, he grabbed the Forge's handle and hefted it over his shoulder, mildly astonished that he was able to perform such a feat. The last time he'd tried to lift the thing it had felt like it weighed a million tons. He'd ended up having to drag it half the way. Now it felt strangely lighter. The logical part of his processor said it was his physical upgrades that made it seem so, as he was now stronger than before, but a deeper part of him thought perhaps it was in part due to his possessing the Matrix now. He felt it was lending him strength. Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn't. It was just what he felt.

After casting one last look at the cavern's interior, gazing briefly at the spot where one life had ended and another had been forged anew, Infernus dutifully made his way back outside where Ratchet was waiting for him, the fire in his spark returning, not full of rage or anger, but gratitude, respect, and hope.

Optimus's death hadn't been for nothing. He'd complete the task he had started. He had the tool needed to reignite Cybertron, and he would die before Megatron got his hands on it again. No way in the Pit would he take it from him, otherwise the Prime really would have died for nothing.

' _Smokescreen, no death is ever truly in vain. Even if you had not succeeded in taking the Forge from Darkmount, I would have been content that the members of my team and our allies had survived the destruction of Jasper and Omega One. My main focus was keeping all of you alive, and I fulfilled it before passing on. That is not dying for nothing. One goal may be lost, but another accomplished. Remember that._ '

He would.

* * *

Infernus blinked as the sun's light shone directly into his optics. It took a moment for them to adjust to the brightness after having just been underground, away from the light of day. For the first time in his life he found himself dying to get up in the air and enjoy the light and the winds roaring high above, found himself detesting the closed, cramped conditions of being below ground. He could only assume that this was due to his new Predacon form and new coding.

When they did finally adjust, his first sight was Ratchet staring at him, mouth slightly agape and optics round in shock. Uneasily he shifted from pede to pede, taking a wary step back as though such an act might remove the stunned expression on the medic's face. He felt no surprise when it, shockingly, didn't do a thing. Ratchet just kept on silently gawking at him, not quite believing what he was seeing, optics darting from his faceplates to that of the glittering golden hammer held over his shoulder. Infernus found he could do little except stand there under such startled scrutiny.

"You...He asked you...The Forge of Solus Prime?" Ratchet stammered at long last. " _That_ is what he asked you to retrieve?"

The Primeling nodded, still feeling uneasy. If Ratchet was reacting like this to the sight of relic, how might the others react? Would they...would they be mad at him? Should he even return to the hangar with the Forge, even though he had promised he would come back with the item? What if they yelled at him? What if they called him incompetent? Would they be upset that he hadn't used the Forge to save Optimus? His thoughts started spiraling down a negative path then, envisioning all the worst possible outcomes of his arrival back to the hangar with the powerful relic.

' _Hey, hey, come on now. No negative thoughts, kid. They won't yell at ya if ya just tell 'em what happened. They already know ya did everything you could for him, obeyed his words to the last. They'll admire that._ '

But...

' _No. Negative. Thoughts. Repeat that._ '

Mentally a sighed rather petulantly, repeating the Shifter Prime's little mantra meant to keep his thoughts and mood out of the emotional abyss he was subconsciously trying to dig for himself. Amalgamous, satisfied that the Primeling's depression had been staved off for the time being, grunted his approval, letting a soft pulse of brotherly kindness and affection flicker over Infernus's spark, soothing him and encouraging him at the same time. He could almost imagine the friendly Shifter smiling, laying an arm over his shoulder, and playfully nudging him in the side.

Slagging Pit-fire would he owe this Prime so many favors. He had just helped dispel his uncertainty with three simple little words. He had to go back. He'd given his word that he would. Maybe they'd be upset at him, but then again maybe they wouldn't. He realized it was best to give the benefit of the doubt in such a situation.

' _Thanks._ '

Amalgamous chuckled lightly: ' _Any time, kid. Any time. Ya ever need someone to drag your sorry tailpipe out of the dumps, just ask me. Least I can do for ya, eh?_ '

A small ghost of a smile formed and dissipated on his lip-plates, though Ratchet never saw it. Evidently Amalgamous saw more than a bit of himself in him and wanted to nurture his good traits, boost his self-esteem, keep him upbeat and cheerful; or perhaps he simply felt obligated to help him since he wielded his signature weapon. It seemed to be a case of master and student between them. At least, that was what it was beginning to seem like, though admittedly Amalgamous was pretty laid back in terms of being a mentor to him, behaving more like an older brother than an authority figure. It was a welcome change of pace, if a bit on the odd side.

' _Hey, what can I say? I'm the joker of the bunch. Taking something seriously? Actually acting like a teacher? Pfft. Yeah. That'll be the day. Just remember: I'm always right here if ya ever need me, kid. The others are, too. S'what we're here for. Advice. Help. That sorta thing._ '

Another smile flickered in an out of existence. This one, however, seemed a bit more...pained than the one before it.

"Smokescreen?"

The Primeling jolted out of his directed thoughts as though he'd been shot. "Huh? Wha?"

"...Are you alright?" asked the medic curiously, a glimmer of concern in his optics, helm tilting a little to the side as he regarded him. He took a tentative step towards him, glyphs for worry dancing in his field. "You looked like you were lost in a daydream, and not a very good one towards the end."

He shook his helm: "Nothing. I'm fine. Just...just talking. To them."

Ratchet nodded, his expression comprehending and sympathetic even though his spark wrenched in fresh grief. He knew thanks to his past experiences with Optimus that the Matrix was a conduit to the life forces of those had born it before the current user. But it was also in the most basic sense an energy capsule. In both a literal and metaphorically symbolic sense, the Primes of the past resided within the device, held in a semblance of a pocket dimension. And now – now his old friend was one of them, living on inside the sacred object, still with his team, his family, and yet not so. He was there with them, but also not there.

The medic, so absorbed in his thoughts, jumped slightly when he felt a hand laid on his arm. He looked up a few degrees and felt his spark spasm in utter emotional agony, for Infernus loomed over him, blue optics apologetic and kind, a tiny smile of sympathy forming on his lip-plates. Could...could it really be...Was it genuinely possible that..?

Then he heard a voice, an achingly familiar voice, rumble like gentle thunder in his mind:

' _Keep them safe for me, old friend._ _A Prime protects, but then, so does a medic. Keep them strong. Do not them die. One lost life is enough. I would rather not be seeing any of them any time soon, no matter how much I yearn to see them again._ '

Through his aching spark and a small rivulet of coolant-laced tears, Ratchet solemnly swore on his spark that he would do everything in his power to keep them all alive and well, no matter if it was the last thing he ever did. But oh, just hear to hear his voice again! It did more to quell the grief than the burial had. It affirmed his belief that Optimus was still there, watching over them just as he had in life. He was not truly dead, not truly gone, merely elsewhere, living on within the Matrix, protected by the ancient entity within and by the Primeling who held the sacred device in his spark chamber.

Infernus removed his hand then, his minuscule smile remaining, even if now it appeared horribly pained. Did he regret letting the Prime speak through him? Or was it the fact that the medic, renowned throughout Autobot forces as having a spark of iron, had actually shown emotional weakness in front of him, had permitted tears of pain and happiness to trickle out of hiding on hearing that trade-mark baritone voice one last time?

"Come on. Let's get back to the others." suggested the Primeling, his voice nothing more than a murmur.

He then raised a hand to the side of his helm, switching on his comm. link: "Raf? 'Bridge us home. Got what we needed."

[Okay. One sec.] A short pause. [Alright. One groundbridge incoming.]

Infernus's smile became less pained then, more genuine and a bit more laid back. "Thanks."

Less than a second later the requested portal swirled open, and the two mechs quickly vanished into it.

* * *

The instant he stepped back into the hangar the Primeling experienced a bad case of déjà vu. Everyone inside was staring at him as though stunned, optics wide as they fell on the massive golden hammer he toted over one shoulder. Just as before, he unconsciously took a wary step back, fearing a vicious verbal backlash from those gathered. Every circuit in his body was screaming at him to drop the Forge and just run for cover, and he did perform the former impulse without even being aware of the act.

He knew. He knew from those looks that they would be angry with him for not using it to save Optimus. Getting them all to accept him had been for nothing.

' _Oi! What did I just tell ya, kid?_ ' Amalgamous reminded him tersely. Infernus could almost imagine him frowning a little at his relapse into fear and doubt.

' _Smokescreen, they are not angry with you. Look at their expressions. There is no anger there, no hatred. They are confused, taken aback, but not upset with you. They simply did not expect this particular item to be the one Optimus asked you to retrieve. I would imagine they had been expecting a weapon and not this._ ' said Alpha Trion gently.

At that he took a hesitant step back into his former spot. The Forge sat, glittering, at his pedes. He took note of Arcee's bluish-pink gaze being glued to the great golden hammer, her expression turning from stunned to pained beyond words. He wanted to go over and apologize to her so badly, tell her he was sorry for letting the Prime slip away, wanted to beg forgiveness for usurping his place as head of the team. She had been one of the first to join his little hand-picked team of warriors, and losing him was just as painful as losing her two former partners. In a sense, Optimus had been a partner to her. He had helped her move past the anger and grief her two losses had caused her.

He took one step forward, intent on doing just that – helping her, and more importantly, apologizing to her.

And he instantly regretted it.

Arcee's expression turned so wrathful so quickly that it was frankly disturbing. She howled in rage and flew at him, arm blades retracting, swiping and slashing blindly at him. Anger, pain, hatred, loathing, grief, all fueled her savage strikes, her optics burning as a few coolant-laced tears streamed down her faceplates.

"Arcee! Stop!" Jack cried, frightened and alarmed at his partner's rage-induced attack on the Primeling, but his cry fell on deaf audials. She was too consumed with her own grief and rage to hear him. The oldest teen felt this attack was entirely uncalled for. Smokescreen had done absolutely nothing, and now Arcee was trying to rip him to shreds.

Raf and Miko were equally scared, and they also cried out for the femme to halt her strikes, horror in their eyes as they watched, helpless to stop the femme.

Wheeljack tried to spring in and forcibly pull her away, but Bulkhead held him back. This was not their fight. This was something these two had to settle between themselves, with no outside intervention. This was something Arcee herself had to settle, to come to terms with.

"Why didn't you save him?! Why?!" Arcee screamed, her fury and pain lending strength to her blows.

But not once did Infernus strike back. He simply moved around her brutal attacks, waiting, waiting for an opportunity to grab her and placate her. Arcee wasn't dangerous, she was just volatile right now, and that volatility could be toned down with the right move. She just needed someone right now, and perhaps a means of physically venting her emotions. It wasn't ideal, but he'd let her blow off some steam on him until she was worn down enough that he could make a move without fear of an injury.

"Because he told me not to." replied Infernus, voice level but quavering. "He told me it would've been a waste."

"A _waste_?! _A WASTE?!_ " howled the femme. "How would saving Optimus's life been a waste?!"

He continued to dodge and avoid her. However, one strike soon found its mark. A vicious upper-cut slash left a small cut on the Primeling's cheek that began oozing still-warm Energon. He ignored the slight stinging of air seeping into the wound and kept up the game of keep away. It wasn't a massive cut, barely an inch or so long and a few centimeters wide, and would in all likelihood heal on its own given enough time.

But it was enough. Wounding him jarred her out of her wrath as though she'd been struck by lightning. She drew back, optics widening, aghast at what she had just done. She had let her anger speak physically. She had just _hurt_ the young Prime, the youngling that Optimus had selected to stand in his place. In her mind she had just attacked, just wounded, Optimus Prime himself. How could she have just done such a thing? How could she have let her grief and pain blind her so completely?

Arcee's shock quickly gave way to confusion when Infernus approached her, and confusion gave way to spark-felt thanks and relief when, rather than reprimand her or be mad with her, embraced her, wrapped his arms around her in the same manner a Guardian would wrap them around a frightened or upset sparkling. She hadn't even realized her frame had been imperceptibly trembling, but having him hold her helped dispel it.

Then he simply let her go.

"I'm sorry." she rasped. "I-I didn't mean – A-Are you okay?"

Infernus snorted, waving aside her concern: "It's just a scratch. I'm okay. Seriously. No biggie. Remember, I got smacked with Megatron's Dark Star Saber and flung into a slagging pyramid. This? This little thing?" He pointed at the cut, smirking. "This is nothing. 'Tis but a scratch!' and all that scrap."

He was pleased to see her crack a wry grin at the Monty Python reference. She gave him a light shove towards the old medic standing a few dozen paces away from them, saying he should have it looked at anyways no matter if he thought that. He had an injury, he needed to have it tended to. That was what Ratchet was there for – aside from being wordy, cantankerous, and generally an all around pain the aft some days.

"I'm standing _right here_. I can _hear_ you, you know." Ratchet frowned, planting his hands on his hips and looking incredibly insulted. Yet despite his seeming to take offense at her words, there was a playful little smirk ghosting in an out on his faceplates.

Infernus comically groaned and rolled his optics, but went over to him regardless. Ratchet was quick to tend to the small cut on his cheek, using a large piece of cloth coated in some wet substance that stung harshly to clean it, and then using an fine-tipped arc welder to seal the injury up. Once done, he was released from the medic's mercies with the warning not to transform for an hour or so to let the weld set. That meant no flying for a while, did he understand?

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. No frolicking up in the air for an hour. Gotcha. Um...I'm still allowed to go outside though, right?" asked the Primeling a bit hesitantly. "'Cause there's...someone I kinda need to find out in there in the compound. I mean, that's okay, right? No flying involved. Also, I kinda wanna check on the others since they aren't back yet."

Ratchet waved him away with an air that at first seemed surprisingly annoyed. "Fine, fine. Get out of here before I remove your T-Cog to make sure you don't try anything foolish." But then he cast a sideways glance at the Primeling and he saw that he was doing nothing more than screwing with him.

"Slagger." Infernus smirked. Then he turned to leave, and was soon out in the hot desert sun once again.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Argh! This took forever to get done because of college stuffs! But here it is!**

 ***Note 1: Tensions are a bit high with Arcee at the moment. Losing Optimus was like losing Cliffjumper and Tailgate all over again. All that pent up grief and remorse and yes, anger, were bound to implode at some point. She was the fuse and powder keg, seeing the Forge in Infernus's hands was the igniter.**


	7. Chapter 7: The Healing Fire

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 7

* _Note to Kaleia: Is there a glitch with your account, because I can't seem to use pm'ing to talk to you? I mean, it's acting like you're posting as a guest, but you're not since you have an account name. What's up with that? Is there maybe an easier way to talk to you than posting these notes on my chapters, seeing as they take quite a while to write?_

 _*Secondary note: You're forgiven for the yelling, but don't be too harsh on Arcee. She's more a temperamental mother than an angry psychopath. And Infernus, as you well know, would never lift a digit to harm her even if she seemed like she wanted to rend him limb from limb. But yeah, a little cut like that? After getting pounded into an Earth tomb by Megatron by a sword straight from Hell? Yeah. He's bound to dismiss it as inconsequential and joke about it afterwards. He's tough like that. :3_

 _*Note to HardyGal: Glad you enjoy! I read a few of those fics and eh. There was no real effort put into them. I put effort into everything I do. You probably noticed ;)_

* * *

 _"Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength."_

 _-Unknown_

* * *

Outside, the somber grey clouds that overcast the sky had finally been burned away by the light of the sun. The sky above was now a bright, crystal blue and the sun was a brilliant, shinning gold that bathed the ground, turning the dusty desert floor into a carpet of blazing amber-y, copper colors that made one's eyes or optics burn if looked at for too long. There were a few wispy cirrus clouds and a sparse number of short, spindly trees offering shade, but not enough to matter significantly.

Infernus, as such, wisely kept his optics narrow to prevent too much of the light from getting in and searing the sensitive optical wiring as he meandered towards the military barracks in the near distance. Ratchet may have told him he was not allowed to transform for a while, but that wouldn't keep him from tracking down Daily and offering his sincerest thanks to the friendly soldier. If he hadn't stumbled across him the night before, convinced him to go in and talk to the others...

He shook his helm. He wouldn't dwell on those very possible and severely dark outcomes. They hadn't happened thanks in no small part to Daily's timely intervention and...Optimus, too. Unconsciously he massaged his arms as though suffering a chill, a fresh twinge of grief lacing through his spark. Infernus owed just as much to the Prime for simply being there for him, pretty much holding his hand throughout the process, reassuring his doubts and offering advice and hope when he felt so clueless and without hope.

' _Hey, hey. Come on. Don't go back under, a'ight? I'll repeat myself as many times as I slagging have to till ya get the message, ya hear? No. Negative. Thoughts. Do I make myself clear? Negativity's a no-no, kid._ '

' _Do not make your step forward be for nothing by taking two steps back. Melancholy is an easy trap for a Prime to fall into._ ' murmured Alpha Trion.

Infernus managed a small but sad smile at the tweaked Skyrim quote, made by Paarthurnax to the player after their defeat of the evil dragon Alduin. The old, silvery-hued dovah had been woeful that his former brother was gone, in effect killed by his own arrogance, vanity, and greed. He had watched Miko and Jack play around on the game on more than one occasion, and some of the quotes had just stuck with him due to how deep and fitting and, well, accurate they were. Not all choices, even if they were the right ones in the end, resulted in everyone being happy and satisfied. The right choices were not always the easiest for those with consciences, and they left deep emotional scars that never completely healed.

He sighed softly. How true that was. How very, very true that was. Frankly it pained him at how true that statement was.

Letting the Prime go had been hard, horribly hard, but after everything he'd suffered through, everything he'd sacrificed, it was only fair he be given a break from the toils of the War after all this time. It had simply been his time, and there honestly wasn't much one could do about that. That had been Optimus's choice to make, not his, and he'd abide by his last wishes – to protect life, to end the violence, and to re-light Cybertron so that those who had been lost could finally come home.

A soft pulse of appreciation and affection flickered through his spark, warming him from the inside. Unconsciously he put a single hand above his chestplates. Slowly but steadily he was beginning to get the hang on who was sending these little pulses of emotions whenever they occurred. There was a certain kind of fingerprint that was unique to each Prime and, yes, even to Primus. This one had come from that selfsame entity contained within the Matrix, and he wasn't scared or intimidated of it anymore. Instead, he found the presence comforting now.

"Thanks."

Another pulse, this time coupled with a familiar, ancient, kindly voice: ' _Of course, little ember. Should you ever have need of me, you have but to ask._ '

"Why do you keep calling me that? Not that I'm asking you to stop, just...why?"

' _Because to him, that's what your spark looks like_ – _a young, small, but persistently burning ember._ ' Solus explained.

"Oh. Oo-kay. Weird, but okay."

Ahead of him lay the military barracks. Knowing what little he knew about Daily, namely his rank, he set his sights on the section delegated in offered schematics as the place where lower ranking officers bunked. He felt a twinge of annoyance on realizing he couldn't rely on his beast mode's sharp sense of smell to find the man as he had thought he would be able to the night before. Ratchet had expressly forbidden him from transforming until the weld on his cheek set, and he wasn't about to tick him off or argue with him by disobeying. He'd have to resort to other means to find Daily.

A quick check of his chronometer and a glance at the generalized schedules of Area 51 soldiers gave him a broadened search parameter. Daily, due to his low rank yet inherently likable personality and knowledge of mechanics, would probably be helping some of his pals in the automotive shop, located just down the wide street from the barracks he was currently at. But just as he turned to go there, something happened that delayed him:

"Smokey!" cried a young, jubilant voice.

Just after that he felt something latch onto him like an energetic Earth puppy in a warm, friendly embrace that he'd despaired of ever feeling again. It wasn't like the one from last night. That one had been grievous, desperate for a point of light in what seemed like a starless, never ending night. This one? This one was full of joy and happiness and life. It filled his spark with a fire of hope and brotherly love. For the first time since the tragedy he allowed himself to laugh. How he had missed Bluestreak!

"Hey Blue!"

Bluestreak let him go at that, blue optics alight with merriment. He began bouncing on his trods as a smile erupted on his faceplates, but then the bouncing stopped and the smile faded as took note of the welding mark on his cheek. That hadn't been there earlier. Where had that come from? What had happened? How had he gotten hurt? Slowly he reached out as though to touch the healing wound, but his hand stopped short, held fast by the Primeling's own, though not fiercely.

"I'm fine, Blue. Honest. It's just a scratch. Nothing to worry about."

"Oh...Okay. You sure you're okay, right? Does it hurt? What happened?"

Infernus shrugged nonchalantly, his replying tone rather pensive: "Not too bad. I mean, it just stings a little. I've handled worse than this. As to how this thing got there...um...yeah, kind of a long story. I'll tell you later, okay?"

He forced his tone into a lighter range then, asking where the young gunner had been and what he'd been up to the whole morning. In response, Bluestreak's smile formed once again and he began bouncing on his trods just as before, a veritable torrent of words gushing out of his vocalizer:

"All over! This place is huge! Well, I mean, you probably know that since you saw it from the air just yesterday. Anyways, while we were out looking for vehicle forms around the compound, me and Magnus met a bunch of human soldiers, a general, a coupl'a other people, and we got to test out our new vehicle modes on that big tarmac strip over there. They were all really helpful and actually pretty nice, but that general guy – Bryce I think his name was – totally needs to lighten up more! He's way, way too frown-y all the time. I mean, seriously! What's his deal? You'd think something crawled into his office and died there he's so stiff."

Infernus's smile broadened. Just listening to Bluestreak babble was enough to lift his spark further out of his moodiness. And in all honesty that was a pretty slagged good description of the way-too-serious General Bryce, an associate of Special Agent Fowler who was up higher in the militaristic pecking order and not near as open-minded or lenient as the darker skinned federal liaison was. If anyone could give Ultra Magnus a run for his money in terms of taking his job too seriously, that man could and then some.

Some of his unconscious tension even simply ebbed away, and his body relaxed into a more casual pose, hip slightly jutting out as he leaned to one side, arms folding across his chestplates as he continued to listen to the young gunner's endless stream of talk. Slowly but surely his smile grew, even though his mind was frowning sadly. When was the last time he had done this? He couldn't even recall at this point. Such interactions between the two had grown briefer and briefer as warfare had drawn nearer and nearer to Iacon, and his duties to Alpha Trion had become more intensive. In his opinion, this idle chatter was long, long overdue. He wanted to savor it, enjoy the little moment of innocence while it lasted, and provide himself with another emotional anchor with which to tether himself.

The more of those he had, the better off he'd be in the long run. Bluestreak was, in effect, his surefire means of staving off negativity.

"So yeah! That's pretty much everything we've done so far. Magnus went off to do something or other, dunno what, but he said he'd be back in a bit. He did ask me to ask you how you were holding up. So...how're you doin'?"

Infernus gusted out a reluctant sigh. He hadn't really been expecting to answer this just yet. Not that he didn't appreciate Ultra Magnus's concern over his mental and emotional state, but he'd really been hoping to avoid that particular question. He simply didn't have a solid answer for it yet, at least not one that would satisfy the mech that he was managing.

"I...I mean, as well as you'd expect after having this crazy amount of responsibility tossed in your faceplates. I-It all feels like some sort of nightmare to be honest. I keep thinking that I'm going to wake up, and none of this will have ever happened. I keep thinking I'm gonna see Optimus striding around the corner back at Omega One, but...this is a nightmare we all know is real. I can't get out of it, can't wake up – because I'm not dreaming. All of this happened, _is_ happening right now, but it just doesn't...it doesn't feel _real_."

Bluestreak's light-sparked demeanor subsided somewhat. He reached out and laid a hand on his sibling's altered arm, surprised to feel a substantial heat coming from it, but nonetheless not removing his hand. He knew the heat was not from Smokescreen's body overheating, it was instead thanks to the incredible power he now held and the modifications done to him to enable him to safely hold that power and to better use it. The heat was strangely quite comforting, more like a heated thermal blanket than a raging bonfire. He was reluctant to let go, and Smokescreen appeared very appreciative of this simple little gesture of comfort. After going through what he had, he needed it badly.

Smokescreen's frame may have changed, but in Bluestreak's mind he hadn't changed a bit. He was still the friendly, kind, protective older brother he looked up to then and still looked up to now. In his mind, nothing had really changed. Smokescreen's personality had pretty much stayed the same, all things considered, not counting his murderous rage at Darkmount, because in all honesty he could be excused for that reaction.

"Just don't forget that we're all here for you, Smoke. Okay? No one's really mad at you, you know. I think almost everyone feels pity towards you, not hate or anger or anything like that."

Then the gunner's optics flickered brighter as an idea came to him. He recalled the animated movie Raf, Miko, and Jack had all watched with him the night before, a cute but moving movie called Lilo and Stitch. That movie had had so many good quotes in it, not to mention many of the parts had been side-splittingly funny, but one in particular he felt suited the message he was trying to get across:

"Ohana means family. Family means –"

Infernus's smile grew while his mental frown shrank. "Nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten. Yeah."

The Primeling drew the smaller grey and blue mech close to him rather abruptly, embracing him out of gratitude. "Thanks, Blue. That helped."

Bluestreak's trademark huge smile softened a bit: "You're welcome."

He released him after a few more moments. "Head on back to the hangar. I'll meet you back there in a bit. I gotta go find someone real quick."

"Okay. See you soon!" Bluestreak started off, but soon drew to a halt and spun to face him. "Um, where're you headed, though? You know, so I can tell Magnus if I bump into him on the way there or before you get back!"

Infernus motioned in the direction of the barracks and the smaller automotive hangars beside them. He said he would be in that general area, but he didn't really know for how long since he had to search around for the guy he was looking for. But he'd try to be back with the others in about half an hour perhaps. One hour at the most, though that was probably just him overestimating his own skill in finding said guy.

"'Kay! I'll tell him that! And Prowl! Later!"

He watched as Bluestreak reverted down into his sleek yet sporty hardtop Mazda Miata x5 vehicle mode, shooting off in a little roar of his engine and a squealing of tires on smooth tarmac. In a short time he was out of sight, leaving the Primeling to continue in his directed wanderings on his own once more. He fought the sudden urge to go after him, battling the emotional instability that he had been able to ignore while listening to Bluestreak babble on, before finally managing to subdue it.

But now, thanks to his ever cheerful youngest brother, he felt a little better knowing that the others would always be there for him, that he had two groups of support who would help him through this step by step. He wasn't going to be dealing with this alone. No, he had people he could count on and rely on no matter what happened.

He'd had it told to him half a dozen times by now, but right then it finally sunk in. And for the first time while alone a genuine, warm smile formed.

* * *

Infernus continued in his leisurely meandering towards the the barracks for some time, not feeling the need to rush, when he finally caught a familiar whiff of automotive fluids and stiff detergent. He was rather surprised his olfactory sensors were so powerful outside of his beast form, but he reminded himself that sensors didn't really alter from mode to mode. As a Predacon, all of his senses, including smell, were greatly magnified regardless of whether or not he was in his dragon mode.

Following the unique scent, he turned sharply in the direction of one specific automotive hangar, curiously examining some of the military vehicles parked around outside. Sturdy things, all of them, designed to withstand the harshest conditions on and off the battlefield, their heavy armor and bulletproof tires turning them into highly mobile tanks. How well they would survive on Cybertron...eh, he'd leave that unanswered for now. He didn't know how Earth metals handled strong acids. He wasn't a chemist.

"Admirin' my work, yázhí? Or are you lookin' for someone 'round here?"

The Primeling jolted, nearly jumping out of his armor. He glanced down to find a late middle-aged, fit, muscular man, lying on a creeper half-way under one of the vehicles, wearing military garb and obviously of Amerindian decent, his dark skin pleasantly but very lightly sun-wrinkled and his long, black hair accented with a few streaks of grey. His green eyes were so vibrant they resembled tiny peridots. His hands were coated in oils and lubricants which he was wiping off on a dirty rag hanging on his waist. Coiled around one ear was a Bluetooth device.

He simply stared at him, blinking a few times. For an Amerindian he sure sounded like a typical Southerner.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" joked the man, cracking a smile at him.

"Um..."

At that the man laughed. "Oh, come on now. I'm not that intimidating, am I? You're bigger than I am!"

"Who are you?" Infernus managed, finally managing to kick his vocalizer back into gear. He felt it was an inane question, but he honestly had no idea who this guy was other than he was obviously an army mechanic, and maybe that meant he knew Daily. That was kind of a long shot though. There were a lot of people at this particular base, and he wasn't even sure Daily was a mechanic.

"Well, my traditional name's Niyol, but you can just call me Neal. Neal Rowland. You must be one o' them aliens the boys are goin' bonkers over. I gotta admit, I see why. You guys are pretty impressive to look at. You look...different than the others though. Not as vehicle-y – is that a word? Vehicle-y? I dunno. Never was much good at English in school."

He rolled back under the vehicle, and the sounds of tinkering soon returned. Infernus, however, did not leave. He seemed to be rooted to the spot as though frozen. Something about this man left him utterly baffled, and yet he couldn't quite pin down what it was. In a short time the man rolled back out to glance up at him quizzically, a humorous glitter in his peridot eyes.

"Well? You gonna ask me whatever question you wanna ask me, or are you just gonna keep on gawkin' at me like a deer in headlights? In case you didn't notice, I'm a bit occupied at the moment. Don't got all day."

"Uh..." Unconsciously the Primeling tapped two digits together like a shy sparkling. Why was it that he just couldn't seem to form words around this man? He wasn't nearly this inarticulate around other humans. What was it about Niyol that made it seem like his glossa had been cut out – his age, his odd, contradictory accent, his appearance? He was clueless as to the cause. And he didn't like being clueless.

Infernus was saved from having to answer when a familiar young man emerged from inside the nearest automotive hangar, silvery dog tags jingling around his neck and uniform neatly pressed. His attention seemed to be focused on a smartphone in his hands and from the rapid movements of his fingers it was pretty clear he was busy texting. For one reason or another his gaze abruptly jerked up and locked onto the Primeling's blue optics, a friendly, sympathetic smile forming. The smartphone was quickly stashed in a side pocket.

"Hey! What're you doing all the way out here, Infernus?" asked Daily, still smiling in that pleasant, understanding way.

His smile faltered a bit on noticing the weld mark on his cheek, worry trickling into his eyes, but in the end he decided not to ask about it. The young mech looked a little on the haggard side and yet also a lot more chipper than he had the previous night. Some of his emotional tension had just flat-out vanished. Damned if he was going to dreg up something that might send him spiraling back down. It didn't look like the cut bothered him, so he wouldn't bother him about it.

"Um...looking for you?" replied the young mech.

"Well, what do you need me for?"

"I...just wanted to say thanks. For what you did last night. You know, helping me. When – When I was too scared to go in and talk to the others."

Daily's smile returned. He hadn't needed to come all the way out here just to say that, he said. Thanks weren't necessary. He had just done what he thought had needed to be done, and he'd been brought up to never ignore someone in need of help, regardless if the person was a complete stranger. Repayment wasn't a set-in-stone requirement. All he asked he do in return was pay it forward. That was all.

"Pay it forward?" He'd never heard of that before.

"Earth concept. Basic'lly someone does you a favor or gives you an assist, and you then do the same for another person, and then they do the same, until you got a massive chain o' people helping other people. Make sense?" Neal explained from beneath the vehicle, gesticulating with a spare hand as he spoke.

Infernus nodded. It was a simple enough concept to wrap his helm around – Daily had helped him, so he had to help someone else in return. And in effect he already had by helping Arcee, so, rather shyly, he explained to Daily that he had paid the act forward, and consequently, the source of the weld mark on his cheek and how it had come about. The private winced sympathetically as he told of the emotional fury Arcee had been unleashing at him and her sudden draw back on injuring him. From the drop in tinkering noises as he spoke it was plain that Neal was interested to hear what happened, too. When he finished they did not resume. Instead, there was the sound of the creeper being rolled back out from cover. The man let out a faint groan of effort as he hauled himself upright.

"Y'know, for a so-called youngster, the way you handled that whole fiasco shows you got somethin' special inside you – little somethin' we older folk call common decency." noted the mechanic thoughtfully. "Not a bunch o' hotshot kids nowadays seem to have it, and don't even get me started on how often it _doesn't_ occur during wars." He snorted derisively to himself.

Daily nodded sagely as he murmured assent, his smile returning, though a bit softer than before. "So you're doing a bit better since I last saw you?"

The Primeling shrugged. "I mean...yeah, I guess. But then it kinda helps having...him...there to keep dragging me out of the abyss I'm trying to dig for myself. And a team that really wants to help me. I thought they'd just turn their backs on me seeing as I was and am the resident rookie. Dumb assumption to make, I know, but having them there helps, too. You know, when they aren't trying to maim you and all."

In spite of the grimness of the joke, Daily managed a short, dry bark of laughter. He knew Infernus didn't hold the attack against Arcee. He'd forgiven her already. He was just glad the young alien was able to crack jokes about such things, and was apparently returning to his former self bit by bit with help from two support groups. Infernus, in his opinion, was more than capable of standing in a command role – he just needed a few nudges to convince him he could.

Neal grinned, winking up at him playfully: "You'd best be gettin' on back, yázhí. They'll be missin' you by now, and I know how friends tend to fuss, 'specially if you're hurtin' on the inside _and_ the outside."

As if on cue, Infernus's comm. link began beeping persistently. A quick check revealed it to be Prowl, requesting he come back to the hangar so Ratchet could check on him. Additionally, due to their nightmarishly low Energon reserves, all efforts were to be made to replenish their small, dwindling stockpile. If the medic said he was good to go, and if he himself felt up to it, then going on a scouting mission was highly advised. Optimus hadn't saved them just to see them starve to death.

He looked back down at Daily and Neal as though requesting permission to leave.

"Go help your friends, Infernus." the private urged. "We'll be here when you get back. Don't worry. Well, I dunno about me being _here_ here, since I got a damned busy schedule, but Neal will still be here. Guy practically lives here."

"Ha! Boy's not wrong. But yeah. If Markie's not available, you're always free to come sniff me out and have a chat with old Neal. I'd appreciate the company. Sound okay?"

Infernus nodded, smiling gratefully. That sounded fine to him. He liked the man's friendliness even if he found him inexplicably baffling. In a way he reminded him of a gruff but kindly uncle, one who spoke rather bluntly and yet had a certain generous, compassionate warmth to him that you couldn't help but cling to.

A quick check of his chronometer revealed that almost an hour had passed since his departure from the hangar and, acting on an impulse, he reverted down into his dragon form and lightly bumped Neal with his snout, letting out a low growl of thanks. He was somewhat taken aback that Neal didn't freak out or try to run, but instead grinned broadly and rubbed an oily, calloused hand over the heated metal before lying back down and sliding the creeper back under the vehicle he was working on.

He turned his focus on Daily after that, doing the same grateful snout-bump with him. The private merely smiled and patted him in return, then told him to be on his way. His friends needed him right now. He and Neal worked here. They weren't going anywhere. His team's survival and safety took precedence over chatting with military members.

Giving him one last snout-bump, Infernus pumped his wings and rocketed into the air, the baby blue mesh of his wings igniting with sunlight. The private watched him until he lowered behind one of the nearby hangars and was lost from sight. His smile grew, a soft chuckle escaping his throat. Neal heard it and joined him, his own laughter loud and hearty, accompanied by sounds of incessant tinkering.

' _You don't even realize how we'll you're doing._ ' Daily thought in mingled pride and amusement. Infernus seemed completely oblivious as to his own progress.

Then, turning sharply on his heels, he strode off to continue with the day's long list of tasks.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Buh! Stupid college keeping me super busy! :( Enjoying it, but damn do I rarely have time for writing except on weekends! It's torture I'm tellin' ya'll, absolute torture! Especially when writing is a stress management strategy for me! D: This chapter is a teensy bit shorter than my other ones for that reason.**

 ***grovels and begs forgiveness for the lateness***


	8. Chapter 8: An Impossible Find

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 8

* _Note to Kaleia: You ever try logging in with Facebook? That's what I do. Way simpler than making an actual account. If you have an account, it'll log you in automatically. You don't even need to put in a password (maybe your Facebook one, I don't recall). Just click and BOOM_ – _you're on!_

 _Also, yeah. I'm one to stick in pop culture references. I pick them based on tone and how well they would fit. Buh! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to make you cry at the "Ohana" one! D: I feel like a horrible...oh, wait. I made you cry like crazy in the first couple of chapters. Well, I'm clearly an evil person. I'd say I'd stop messing with your feels, but this is a pretty feelsy story all 'round. So I'm not gonna make a promise I can't keep. I:_

* * *

The Primeling landed in front of Hangar E's entrance with much more grace than he had the last few times. He felt a little bit of well-deserved pride over it, viewing such a good landing as a personal accomplishment. Hey, for someone who wasn't a flier by nature he was making progress in the whole flying business in veritable leaps and bounds. That was something to be proud of if nothing else was.

Remembering his shoddy attempts at getting airborne and his first rough landing, made in front of this very same hangar no less, made him mentally chuckle. Dear Primus that had been utterly embarrassing in hindsight. He'd almost face-planted the ground. Under normal circumstances such fails might've made some of the others laugh, so Infernus considered himself fortunate that the circumstances had been less than normal at the time. But, thinking back on it, maybe them laughing would've been a good thing. Maybe it would've helped to dispel some of the grief that had been suffocating the hangar then.

' _Heh. Now you're thinkin' 'bout things the right way around. A good laugh helps with anything. Doesn't matter what's wrong; laughing over something always help ya to feel better. No better form of therapy in the universe. Why else do ya think I'm such a slaggin' goofball around ya, kid?_ ' Amalgamous chuckled.

Um, because it was his thing? The Shifter Prime had said before he was the clown of the bunch, so making others smile and laugh was kind of his gig from all he could gather. And he was eternally grateful to have such a laid-back, casual, entertaining personality coaching him on remaining positive. Out of all the Primes he had thus far spoken with, Amalgamous was the one he could relate to most easily. He acted like an overgrown teenager rather than a mature adult mech, which was a huge contrast to other, more serious and adult-like Primes like Optimus and Alpha Trion.

' _Aww. C'mon, kid. You're makin' me blush here. Seriously, cut it out already._ '

At that, Infernus broke out laughing in his helm as he padded across the hangar's entry threshold. When he transformed he was smiling, and from the looks on the others faceplates they were happy he was doing better emotionally. Not even Prowl could prevent a minuscule little smile from ghosting in and out of existence. He was relieved his sibling was faring better than when he'd last seen him. Smokescreen not chipper and happy was like Bluestreak not babbling on about anything and everything he could possibly think of.

"You called, Prowl?"

The black and white mech nodded. "Yes. Do you feel up for a simple scouting mission? As you know, our Energon supplies are dangerously low. Ultra Magnus brought a small amount with him, but that will only last us for so long. Ratchet has located a decent amount in a mine in a mountain range one state over. Not a massive source, but it will be enough to stabilize our supply for the time being."

"However, if _we_ can detect it, the Decepticons might already have detected it as well. Expect company." Ratchet warned. "I'd tell someone to go with you, but they're needed elsewhere, and more than one Autobot arriving on the scene might draw unwanted attention."

Infernus gave his word he would be careful and then, transforming, bounded out of the hangar. A few powerful flaps of his baby blue wings and he was soaring off into the distance, headed for the low rise of mountains on the near horizon. In less than a few minutes his brilliant white form had vanished from visible range, leaving the remaining Autobots to hope nothing happened to him while they were out scouting, too. They couldn't afford to let just one mech handle the scouting missions, but they also couldn't afford to lose the Primeling.

' _Primus, keep him safe. I don't know what we'd do if we lost him, too..._. _'_ Ratchet prayed, unaware the others were thinking nearly the exact same plea.

* * *

At any point in the past the Primeling would've been shrieking in ecstasy at being able to fly. He'd always wondered what it was like. He'd had friendly connections with a few Autobot fliers, and they'd always describe in vivid detail what it was like. He'd never fully understood it, though. Now he did understand, did know what it was like, but such knowledge had come with a terrible, terrible price. He felt no happiness over this gift he had been given. Maybe in time he would, but for now he just saw it as a means of transport. Thus, neither the sharp wind in his faceplates nor the warm thermals billowing beneath his wings convinced Infernus to relax or enjoy himself. He was on an important mission. Relaxing was a luxury he couldn't afford right now. Doing so in a war was a surefire way of getting yourself killed, especially if you were a high ranking officer like he was now. Dying was not on his list of priorities. He missed Optimus for sure, but not _that_ much, and he'd sworn to protect the others no matter what. He couldn't do that if he was offline.

Zeroing in on the coordinates provided by Ratchet, he tucked in his wings and slowly lowered towards the mountains at a steady pace, optics quickly scanning the ground below for signs of movement. Aside from the occasional bird or deer there was nothing, not even a pulse from the Matrix. Huh. Was he really the first one here? That seemed too good to be true, but maybe the 'Cons were already inside the mountain? Maybe it wasn't reacting yet because he had to be within a certain distance?

' _I wish I could answer that for you, but sadly I cannot_ _. No one truly understands how the Matrix works, not even those within it. Tread carefully. You could very well be walking into an ambush._ '

Mentally he groaned. Joy. Well, so much for always getting the drop on others. He must've just gotten lucky or something at Darkmount – a useful case of beginner's luck maybe. Slag it. He'd been hoping for something a little more, well, practical when it came to what the Matrix could do and when it could it. It was turning out to be a bit fickle in its favors.

Shaking his helm in mild aggravation, he began to circle in broad ovals as he searched for a viable entrance into the mountain. He had to admit the upgrades to his optics were utterly amazing. He could pick out little swirls of dust that formed from strong breezes, individual pebbles on the stony ground. The quality of his vision had increased by...honestly he didn't know by how much, but slagged was it _way_ better than before. He felt as if he'd been blind before.

At last spotting what might be a cave entrance, he circled lower until he finally touched ground, this landing even smoother than the others before. He couldn't help the proud expression from forming as he padded along at a brisk trot. He was really getting the hang of this whole flying and landing gig. Guess hanging around flyers and watching birds on scouting missions was paying off in more ways than one. He permitted himself a happy little bounce as he clambered around on the uneven terrain, accidentally spooking a trio of deer close by into bolting away. The Primeling watched them for a second before continuing onwards, feeling a little bad about disturbing them.

His hunch about the possible entrance turned out to be accurate. It was a very large entrance, and it looked, oddly enough, like it had just been dug out by a massive tunneling animal or something. Just from the way it looked he knew it wasn't natural. It was too... _clean_ in the way the rocks had been carved away. Had the 'Cons dug this while searching for the Energon inside? Sure seemed that way, but maybe this had been dug by humans in the past and the 'Cons had just enlarged it, taking advantage of the tunnel already made. 'Cons always were opportunists he reminded himself with a mental frown.

Without hesitation he slunk in, leaving the shining golden rays of the sun and the clear, open skies in favor of the dark, constricted bowels of the earth.

* * *

He had no idea exactly how deep underground he was, but for the first time in his life the Primeling felt afraid of the dark, afraid of the stones that surrounded him. He would jump at the sounds his own talons made as they clicked and scraped along the the tunnel's rough floor – not massive jumps, but enough to make him feel rather silly. He looked over his shoulders, under the impression of being watched by unfriendly eyes. But with true perseverance he endeavored to ignore that latter sensation and focus on what lay ahead. He couldn't afford to be scared right now, no matter who or what was watching him. He was on a mission.

' _Come on, Smoke. Just focus. The Energon's gotta down here somewhere. Wish I'd thought to ask for a scanner. Scrap!_ ' he thought to himself. He'd been in such a hurry he had neglected to ask Ratchet for one.

He continued ever deeper into the cavern tunnels. After a while his sharpened audial receptors began to pick up the sounds of clicking and what sounded an awful lot like digging. Not digging with tools like he would've expected in a mining operation, but with claws or other such additions, and it didn't sound like very many sources from how faint it was. Probably less than five or so individuals was his best guess. Then came another series of sounds he was all too familiar with – that tank-curdling, sickening sound of mechanical gurgling that were only made by one type of Cybertronian:

Insecticons.

Following the gross sound, he came to a place where his tunnel intersected another. Carefully, he peered around just enough to get a glimpse of what was going on that involved Insecticons and digging. What he saw was two of the bug mechs digging into the wall with gusto. Once satisfied they'd apparently dug deep enough, one of them plunged a clawed hand in, the other letting out a screeching noise of victory on beholding what the other now held. Still the Primeling watched from the shadows, wondering what it was they'd found, because it clearly wasn't Energon.

At first glance it looked like a weirdly shaped rock. It was colored similarly to one, after all. Some parts of it were slightly rounded while other parts were jagged and angular. On zooming his optics in, he was stunned to pick up a very faint sheen and to find that the coloration was actually rust. Rocks didn't rust though. So what was that thing...?

"Hnn. This is what Shockwave wants?" gurgled the Insecticon holding the whatever-it-was.

That instantly set the Primeling on high alert. If the one-eyed mad scientist wanted this thing the bugs had dug up for him, he had to make sure he never got his oily digits on it. If he did, that would only lead to a world of hurt for his friends. He could take these guys. But he had to be fast about it before they called in support from other hive members. He couldn't let them send out a telepathic distress signal. He would get swarmed in minutes if that happened. And the best way to do that was to separate them – take them out one at a time, and before the other got suspicious.

' _Smart kid. But, uh, how do ya plan to get Bug Number One to come waltzin' over to ya?_ '

He permitted himself a sly, toothy little smirk. If the Shifter just sat back and watched, then he'd see. He'd seen enough of the _Batman: Arkham_ and _Assassin's Creed_ games thanks to Miko to know how this type of stealth attack worked. You lured one guy into a place out sight with something significant enough to distract the one closest to you, and it was common knowledge that Insecticons weren't all that bright, so luring one was going to be a walk in the crystal park.

' _I'm not so certain that video game logic applies in real life, Smokescreen..._ ' Alpha Trion cautioned, sounding as though he was eyeing him a little strangely, but with noticeable amusement.

Puh. Then he'd just have to wind up surprised. All he probably had to do was kick a loose stone in their direction. And it wasn't like he didn't have the training to back it up. He wasn't _only_ using video game strategies for his information, as he knew the actions of the characters on screen were dependent on complex lines of code. He was melding them to the situation and to his own training, so it was more like strategic improvising than rushing in blindly and hoping for the best. But then again, some real life people did that rushing-in-blindly thing in real life so...he supposed there was that in Alpha Trion's defense. He wasn't saying he liked what the old archivist was unwittingly implying of his thought processes, but he got the point.

As carefully as he could, he plucked a small tone up in his claws and tossed it out into the tunnel where it clattered ominously.

A startled gurgling noise came: "Cllllrrrrrk? What was that?"

He stayed perfectly still, perfectly quiet. Even his air intakes became slower, softer. After one nerve-wracking moment he heard the heavy galumphing of one of the bug mechs as it headed towards him to investigate. The Primeling retreated further into his own tunnel, abdominal plates practically brushing the stony ground. He found a convenient recess in the walls and transformed out of his dragon mode, one hand changing into a serrated blade. He steeled himself as the Insecticon drew ever nearer. Then, as it was just about to pass his hiding place:

 _SHRRNG!_

He grabbed the Insecticon before it could topple, not bothering to cover its mouth to prevent it from crying out to its partner. With the way Energon was gushing from its sliced neck cables, thus internally clogging its air intake vents and glitching its vocalizer, there was no need. It wasn't capable of speech. In less than a second its body went completely limp, and he set it down as gently as he could. When the second one grew suspicious of its friend's absence, it too came galumphing around to investigate and, like the other before it, its neck cables were sliced cleanly. It died just as quickly in the same strangled, gurgling manner and joined its friend on the stony ground at the Primeling's pedes.

Infernus then switched the blade back into a clawed hand, feeling a pang of guilt in his spark as he looked at the still corpses. He didn't like killing, even if it was a naturally aggressive Insecticon made by Shockwave and working for the 'Cons. True, he'd helped blow up a whole escape pod of the bug mechs, but he hadn't had much of a choice in either matter. Kill or be killed was the rule against all Decepticons, one Autobots in the past had learned the hard way. Right now, for Team Prime, it was simply a battle of survival. You did what you had to in order to live another day, even if you didn't like it.

Optimus rumbled sadly: ' _Yes. Sometimes there are choices where none of the answers are pleasant. But I respect that you endeavor to try to make their ends as swift and painless as possible. That is a mercy a Decepticon would rarely if ever show to an Autobot, whether they be a prisoner or a soldier on the battlefield. It is a forlorn hope I admit, but perhaps your actions may influence theirs in the future. If there is one thing I know that can end violence, it is compassion, no matter the form it takes._ '

His spark clenched a little at these words. He was about to argue how killing was a form of compassion, but then he recalled his own thoughts and actions during the attack on Darkmount – how he had terminated the Vehicon troopers in a fast, hopefully mostly painless way, thinking that perhaps death would give them a little taste of freedom and free will. Thus, he decided not to argue. He simply accepted it.

Now to see what the Insecticons had dug up for Shockwave.

He knelt down over the prone body of the second Insecticon, shimmying the semi-reflective, rust-covered object from its stiff hands. Upon success, he held it up to get a better look at it. It was definitely metal, but it wasn't some oddly shaped piece of ore either. The shape was far too...detailed for that. Honestly, it looked like someone had grabbed a piece of metal from a workshop and carved it, then tossed it here to rust. Whatever it was, the edges were very well-defined, meaning it definitely wasn't natural. You didn't find something like this naturally.

Out of curiosity, he used his hands to scrape away some of the rust coating the object. A few large flakes of the rocky-colored substance fell away to reveal a color he was all too familiar with now – gunmetal grey. Coupled with the oddly angular look of it, the rust, the very slight curvature of one part of it that seemed vaguely familiar to him...Realization struck him with the force of an oncoming train, almost to the point where it made him stagger.

This wasn't just any old piece of metal. No.

It was a fossil. A _Predacon_ fossil. On Earth. Buried in a mountain. And _Shockwave_ wanted it.

Spark racing in panic, he promptly turned tail and bounded towards the surface. For the moment he forgot about the precious fuel he had come there to retrieve. Only one sole, solitary thought pounded through his processor: he had to get out of here, had to get back to the hangar, had to get this seemingly harmless piece of metal into safe-keeping. He had to keep it out of Shockwave's oily hands. If it fell into his power...he didn't even want to think about that. He knew just as well as anyone else some of the fantastical yet horrifying stories surrounding Shockwave. There was a reason he was called "Megatron's pet mad scientist" by both Autobot and Decepticon alike. Some of his experiments, the ones not shrouded in rumor anyways, were downright unnatural, enough to make even the most stoic of Cybertronians shudder.

He reached the cavern's mouth in record time, and with a loud leathery snap of his wings, he launched into the air.

* * *

Private Daily, en route to the building that housed the command element of Area 51, was rather surprised to see the great white-and-fire-accented form of Infernus soar by overhead like some bestial plane coming in to land, his return far earlier than he had expected. His flight path was completely rigid and aimed like a pointer in the direction of Hangar E. The young man was able to deem that something had happened on his mission, but what exactly he couldn't say. All he could tell for certain was that the mech was spooked by something or other and that he hadn't returned with the needed supplies of life giving fuel he had mentioned they were low on.

Infernus was a responsible, caring sort in Daily's mind. Even if he didn't feel quite comfortable in a command role yet, he put the safety of his friends above his own in a way that some people would deem reckless. Something pretty major must've resulting in him getting so distracted that he had forgotten his mission parameters in favor of something else and returned so quickly.

Though devoutly wishing he could go and investigate what the trouble was, he fought that urge and continued on his way. He promised himself he would use the short break he had to go and check on the young Prime. He had already expressed a desire to be a sort of liaison/courier/messenger for the aliens, and also a kind of casual counselor for their appointed leader – just someone for him to talk to who was "removed" per say from their war. A human companion of his own, one who could act as a psychologist for him and who had a greater understanding of what he was going through than any of the three teens currently under the aliens' protection.

He really _, really_ wanted to help the alien through his ordeal, and be there for him for as long as he needed him. He hated seeing anyone in distress or struggling.

That was why he was going to see the command element. They had contacted him, said they had gone over his request and now had a decision for him. He just had to hope they had said "Yes".

* * *

Those in Hangar E could well be excused for visibly jumping on hearing the heavy flapping of Infernus's wing's. All cast startled looks at the white beast as he landed with a solid thud on three legs instead of four, the fourth limb curled up and his claws coiled around some odd stone-like object that would, at the right angle, gleam under the harsh artificial lighting. He was holding the item with extreme care, almost as if it were a live bomb.

"Kid? What are you doin' back already? Where's the Energon?" Wheeljack wondered pointedly.

The Primeling transformed then, still holding the object in one claw-like hand. "Forget the Energon. I found something way more important and way more valuable – and that's because _Shockwave_ wanted it."

With that statement, he came over and put what was in his hand onto one of Ratchet's worktables, carefully moving some of the medic's tools out of the way to provide his prize with more room. Team Prime gathered around the table to get a closer look, Wheeljack looking the most skeptical of the group (in his mind, how could a hunk of oxidized rock be more valuable than the stuff that kept them alive?). From the catwalks that ran parallel along the hangar's walls, Jack, Miko, Rafael, and June observed curiously, each noting the peculiar metallic sheen of one part of the object.

Ratchet was the first to react, his optics widening as a sharp intake of air was discerned coming from him. Using the utmost care, he picked the object up to examine it, scraping away some more thick flecks of rust, soil, and ground stone with the tip of a tool plucked from the opposite side of the worktable to reveal more dark grey metal underneath. His blue optics riveted onto Infernus.

"Where did you find this?"

"What? What it is?" Miko demanded. She was doomed to wait a while for her answer.

Infernus explained that he had found it in the mountain cavern he had gone to look for Energon in, that he had come across two Insecticons digging around for it and he had stolen it from the instant he had heard Shockwave's name mentioned, putting particular emphasis on that fact. What exactly the one-eyed mad scientist wanted it for he had no idea, but it couldn't mean anything good for them. He had stopped whatever it was he had been planning, though.

Ultra Magnus shook his helm grimly. "I wish that were true, Smokescreen, but it likely isn't. Shockwave always has contingency plans set up in case of a failure, and contingency plans for those contingency plans. I have a bad feeling that all you have managed to do is delay him. He'll find a way to get past this setback. Believe me when I say he always does. Stopping Shockwave is no easy feat. Countless Autobots have tried over the course of this war. All failed."

Infernus winced. "Scrap."

"Is no one gonna explain to me what that thing is?" Miko demanded once more, the rising annoyance in her voice plainly detectable.

He looked over at her, blue gaze even, replying: "It's a Predacon fossil."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Yeah, shorter chapter than usual. Busy, busy, busy! Next chapter I'll try to make a bit longer to make up for this. :)**


	9. Chapter 9: Some Myths Are True

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 9

* * *

One could have heard a feather drop in the utterly dumbfounded silence that followed Infernus's simple, three-word statement. The faint sounds of the four humans' heartbeats became reverberating, pounding drum beats in the Primeling's sensitive audial receptors, and his utterly perplexed expression mirrored theirs and those of his own team mates – perplexity that surrounded the partially rust-covered, gunmetal grey object that lay with such ominous innocence on the worktable the aliens all encircled. Their thoughts were swirling maelstroms of questions to which they had no answers. Here was something that, for once, the infinitely knowledgeable Ratchet couldn't explain.

How was the presence of the rusted skull of a Predacon, on Earth no less, remotely possible even in the most crazed, half-baked imagination? There was just no way it could be! Predacons were incredibly old, older than recorded history and far pre-dating modern Cybertronians. They were the very first species to walk Cybertron's surface after Unicron's defeat by the Thirteen, supposedly as a sort of "dry-run experiment" (so the old argument went) by Primus to see how things turned out with this new race, their frame designs influenced heavily by Onyx Prime through his Mask, the Prime granting the newly emerging sparks his bestial exterior and savage strength so they could defend themselves against threats that may come their way. But then, they all died out thanks to something scholars called "the Cataclysm". No Predacons survived this mysteriously caused planet-wide mass extinction, as it had been ruthlessly thorough. All that had remained after this cleansing were their remains.

Not much was known about the Predacons themselves, outside of what they looked like anyway, what weapons they might have used, and little snippets of culture gleaned from pre-Cataclysm burials other than that they obviously never had developed space-faring capabilities. There was no evidence that they had ever made it off Cybertron. So what was such an ancient object doing on a planet even younger than the one it originated from? It was a paradox. There seemed to be no answer. Strictly speaking, it _couldn't_ be there. If it had been found on their homeworld it wouldn't be so ground-shaking, but its presence on a world light-years from where it came from defied all reasoning. If the Predacons had never gone off world, how then could the remains of one be on an alien planet?

All of these things whirled around in Infernus's processor in such a rapid succession that he felt himself get mildly dizzy. Some of it came from what he had read in the archives of the Hall of Records, but a decent amount of the information came from the Matrix itself, though this was more clarification of what he did already know than anything really new – information meant to tally with his line of thoughts and questions. New information could probably wait, if they even knew anything at all.

"B-But what's it doing here?" Bluestreak wondered with wide optics.

"I..." Infernus hesitated. Then: "I have no idea. I was kinda hoping one of you guys might know."

"What? You have that Matrix thingy and you _still_ have no idea?" Miko deadpanned from above.

He shot her a glance, saying it wasn't like they talked to him every second of every day. All they were doing right now was tallying what they knew with what he knew. He was getting clarification of what little he himself knew about Predacons from the Hall of Records, nothing more. He didn't know if they didn't have an answer or if they expected him to figure it out on his own. If it was the last one, he was calling foul. He wasn't an archaeologist, and he wasn't a scholar either. He was just a soldier who had occasionally gotten bored and had decided to skim through random volumes while on duty. How the slag did they expect him to solve a puzzle with missing pieces? He wasn't an expert – not even close!

"He kind of has a point there, Miko." Jack pointed out. "You can't ask a military member to start spouting off exactly how a dinosaur fossil got into the dirt beneath the main airstrip or to name the species based off one bone. That's like asking you to ace a math test when you don't know how to do any of the problems."

"So how do we find out more? Go capture Shockwave and force him to tell us? Totally betting Smoke could do that. He trounced King 'Con and Screamer by himself for flip's sake! Taking out Shockwave should be super easy for him! And then we interrogate him and boom – we got our answers!"

Prowl frowned at this over-simplification and deadly excess of confidence. "Capturing Shockwave is far easier said than done, Miko. Many have tried over the course of the War. None have succeeded. Sending Smokescreen to go after Shockwave would be a death sentence, especially since the Nemesis is crawling with soldiers and his power matches Megatron's own. There must be other ways of finding the data we seek that do not involve such massive risks to life and limb."

"And that's not to mention we can't track the warship." Ratchet added grimly.

Out of impulsiveness, Infernus reached for the fossil in the hopes of maybe getting some more information about it, something that might tell him a little more as to why it was there or why it was tied to Shockwave. Almost instantly he felt some sort of surge of power or something flow from the fossil and into him. It flowed from his hands, up his arm, and into the Matrix. He didn't even manage a gasp of panicked alarm before his entire body from helm to pede went rigid.

Then his vision whited out.

* * *

 _Images flashed through his mind's eye:_ _images of flight, and battle, and hunting prey down in the moonlight_ _–_ _prey like him, titans made of metal. For a moment he felt powerful, in control, unbeatable. He felt a fire burning in his throat. He felt he could take on anyone and anything foolish enough to cross him. Then the dreadful cold returned, and the flashes stopped, replaced by serene darkness that seemed to call to him to stay in its tempting embrace._

 _"Stay a little longer," it seemed to whisper to him, "Every talented hunter deserves a respite from the chase, does he not?"_

 _But he fought it, fought it with the same savagery he fought with normally._

 _And he won._

 _His optics opened to reveal a scene alien and terrifying to him. Cold whiteness made blinding by the sun went on for as far as the optic could see, broken only by patches of freezing, salty water. He remembered the scene being the last thing he recalled before the bitter cold had swallowed his body, freezing it solid and tossing him into the darkness of deep stasis lock._

 _Then he remembered his mission_ _–_ _a mission he had yet to fulfill. The Builder had not only given him the task of hunting down his enemies, the Autobots, but also of finding the remains of his fallen ancestors so the Builder could remake them_ _–_ _give the once powerful and proud race he belonged to a chance to return to the land of the living, even if they were simply copies. The concept of not being alone...it was exciting, strength-lending._

 _He recognized the stiffness of his body as being the result of a rather thick coating of ice, but as time passed he felt its grip weaken, felt the warmth of the sun above begin to melt through his frozen cocoon. Slowly but surely he regained sensation in his wings, the amber mesh soaking in sunlight and heating up like twin solar panels. He tried to move them slightly and was pleased to note a faint cracking sound. He tried to move them some more..._

 _With a loud shattering noise the ice broke apart into thousands of shards that scintillated briefly in the light of the sun before falling to the snowy ground at his paws. For a moment he stood there and tested his limbs for functionality. Once satisfied, he spread his amber wings, issuing a screaming roar as he launched into the skies, keen olfactory sensors following the familiar scent of the Builder._

 _Yes. The Builder would ensure he was not alone. And he would wipe out those "Autobots" who had nearly slain him through trickery. He already had one of their scents...but that could wait until he had kin to hunt with._

 _"Smokescreen? Smokescreen, you okay? Say something, kid!"_

* * *

Infernus jolted out of the vision so violently he nearly fell over, Bulkhead catching him before he could, all of his senses glitching. The battered, half-degraded skull clattered ominously to the floor, but even that sounded muffled and faint to his glitching, recovering audials. His optics shuttered a few times as they re-calibrated and focused onto the drab but homey interior of Hangar E and the familiar faces of everyone within it. All looked confused and worried.

"You okay?" Bulkhead repeated, his voice sounding strangely muffled and garbled.

"Yeah. I mean, I-I think so. Nothing's broken. I think..." He gave himself a once over just to be sure. Yeah. Nothing broken, but all his senses still felt totally out of whack.

The green Wrecker helped him stand upright, acting as a heavy-set pillar for him to lean on, demanding what in the name of the Allspark had happened to him. One second he'd been looking annoyed, and then he had picked up the fossil and gone as rigid as a statue. So what the slag had just happened to him? He'd never seen that happen to Optimus! He hadn't gone rigid when he'd gotten that message from Trion through the Saber! He'd seemed perfectly fine when that had happened!

"You really scared us!" Bluestreak added in.

He shook his helm to clear some of the images still flashing through his mind. Still confused as to what exactly had happened, his processor still trying to comprehend it all, he struggled to explain what he had experienced as he pieced it together himself bit by bit:

"I-I...I don't know. All I did was touch the fossil and then...I was somewhere else. It was really cold; lots of snow. I think it was the Arctic, or maybe the Antarctic. I don't know. One of the two. I was looking out of something else's optics, hearing its thoughts, feeling what it felt. I...this is gonna sound crazy, but I think it was the Predacon you guys 'bridged there. Right before it escaped, it kept thinking about someone it called 'the Builder', a-and that it was given a mission by this guy to kill us, but it had another mission, too – find more fossils. This 'Builder'...I-I'm pretty sure it's Shockwave, and I think he's trying to clone an entire Predacon army or something. All he needs is one fossil, even a shard of it, and he can clone one. That one you guys fought? It's a clone. This fossil right here? Clone. _None_ of these are originals."

He plucked the skull off the ground and put the fossil back on the table, suddenly appreciative of the odds they might be up against if Shockwave got his oily hands on more remains.

Prowl nodded. "That makes sense. There's no evidence that Predacons ever made it off Cybertron. Logic would dictate that the one we fought was nothing more than a cloned knockoff, and all the remains here belong to previous clones. That still begs the question of why Shockwave planted the clones here in the past. I don't recall Autobot forces ever being stationed here, but they may have been a covert unit working under the official radar. They may have simply been Neutrals looking for a backwater planet to ride out the War on."

"Think they may have been guarding 'Con Energon hoards?" Jack guessed. "You guys did say you hid stores of the stuff off-world to keep them out of the hands of the enemy. Maybe they were like giant guard dogs for the 'Con stashes, to keep you guys – er, any 'Bots that were here in the past, I mean – away from their loot."

Arcee gave her partner a keen glance, nodding to herself. That did sound pretty likely. And Optimus, before he'd...left had mentioned that there were Cybertronian battle sites and graveyards on this planet, meaning there had been fighting here in the past, so it wasn't too hard to believe that the 'Cons would get Shockwave to make Predacon clones to guard their Energon stores, enabling much needed troops to remain on the home front.

"Perhaps. I need more data before I offer any further speculation." Prowl replied noncommittally.

"Did you get anything more? Like maybe where we can find more of these fossils?" demanded Wheeljack.

Infernus was forced to shake his helm and reply in the negative. That was all he'd gotten from...whatever the scrap had just happened. He was still trying to piece everything he'd seen, felt, and heard together. It was all just – it was just weird. Blurry. Vague. Some information had been found out but not a lot, definitely not as much as he'd wanted and certainly not as much as he'd hoped. He knew it wasn't much to work off of. But at least it was better than not knowing anything at all like before. Something was always better than nothing, right?

"True." Arcee agreed. "I just wish we had more to work off of than just 'Oh, yeah. All these fossils are clones that Shockwave is going to try to replicate. And as a side note, the Predacon we thought we'd gotten rid of is now wandering free again and wants to kill us all.' That...seems more like bad news than good news if you ask me."

Bumblebee trilled lightly: * _Yeah, but like he said_ _–_ _it's still something, right? We got a place to start. More than we had five minutes ago._ *

No one could argue that simple statement.

* * *

An hour or so went by at a seeming snail's pace. All were of the opinion that they should be out hunting for these dangerous, cloned remains scattered about over the face of this watery, alien planet, but none had the faintest idea where to begin looking for such hidden archaeological time bombs. All they knew for certain was what they were looking for. Frankly, the Decepticons were better off finding them than they were.

Unable to do much more than theorize, the inhabitants of Hangar E went about daily tasks with almost their regular fervor, Infernus helping them in these tasks whenever he could – or more accurately when it was feasible for him to. Helping Ratchet with his equations and general super-scientist stuff was not something he could possibly help with. Thankfully, Ratchet didn't hold animosity towards him for the lack of assistance. He just seemed happy that Infernus was settling into and slowly filling the pedeprints Optimus had left.

"Hey, wait! Guys! I got an idea!" Rafael exclaimed excitedly – so excitedly that poor Bluestreak squeaked and nearly jumped out of his armor.

* _What is it, Raf?_ * Bumblebee whistled curiously, going over to investigate the youth on the catwalk's sofa.

"All these fossils, they have to be pretty old, right? And Predacons look like animals or animal hybrids – you know, dragons, tigers, wolves, horses, lions, griffins, and so on, right? Well, I've been doing a bit of web-surfing and I think that all those mythological 'monsters' talked about in old literature and legends might actually be human sightings of Predacons. The Nemean lion. The Lernaean Hydra. Dragons. Anyway, my point is this: all those 'monsters,' especially the Greek ones, always had their locations documented, and a lot of the times they were killed in that general location. Maybe if we search around those areas we'll find a Predacon fossil?"

Ratchet blinked once, surprised. Soon enough a smile formed. A short, startled laugh escaped as he admitted:

"I-I think that just might work! What do you think, Smokescreen?"

"Now _that's_ a plan I can get behind. Let's do some monster hunting, people!" answered Infernus, grinning fiercely. "Which one're we going after first?"

Rafael, along with Jack and Miko, grinned and laughed at his eagerness. "You want my opinion? Go after the Lernaean Hydra. That one seems to be the most well-documented out of all the Greek monsters – and trust me, there's a lot of them. Like, a _lot_ a lot. That it's so specific is a little bit suspicious if you ask me. For a 'mythical' monster that supposedly never existed, it's sure treated like it was real. I'm putting geographic data up on Ratchet's console now. Also sending a file that details the myth itself."

On the medic's console appeared a detailed map of Greece. On the southern tip of one particular region (labeled on the map as Peloponnesus) was a bright crimson "X" near the coast that marked the archaeological site of Lerna, beneath which were geographic coordinates for the groundbridge to use: 37°33′N 22°43′E. Next to those numbers was a PDF document link. While this wasn't exactly where the deadly Hydra had been slain in the old story of Hercules (as that was not detailed so specifically), it was at least a place nearby to start.

"Alright. What're we waiting for then? Let's do this!"

The Primeling transformed and made to run into the waiting groundbridge, but Bulkhead grabbed his tail before he could bolt in, resulting in him tripping and falling to the floor. He turned back to the green Wrecker with an irked expression.

"Hold it there, kid. Greece has a lot o' people. Archaeology sites are bound to have some humans on site. Let someone with a vehicle mode go first so they can check the scene, 'cause no offense – that dragon mode of yours ain't exactly low profile. If there are diggers on the site, a big white dragon popping up outta nowhere is gonna result in some craziness no matter if you go up to 'em and convince them you're not gonna, you know, _eat them_ or something."

"Not to mention you'll end up on every conspiracy site ever." Miko added.

Infernus let out an annoyed sigh but heeded the advice, stalking away from the glowing portal and coiling up like an infinitely bored kitten while Bumblebee drove through to scout out the area. His tail occasionally swished in the same manner of an agitated feline, one clawed digit idly scratching at the cement. His whole body language seemed to be saying "Ugh. Come on! Lemme out already!"

A voice cackled in his mind, one he didn't recognize: ' _Impatience is a virtue, eh?_ '

' _Liege, don't you dare encourage him!_ ' retorted another voice sharply. This one he recognized as Vector's. ' _Do you have any idea the debacle that could arise if one of the scientists at the site were to see him?_ '

The Time Guardian was probably not reassured when Liege chuckled darkly, hinting that he was very much aware – and didn't care. Where Amalgamous was the good-natured prankster, Liege was the sly, devious miscreant who loved to stir up trouble for the sake of trouble. He enjoyed a good bit of unpredictability and chaos accordingly. And it did not help that he had a silver glossa to help this campaign of evil mischief along.

The Primeling rolled his optics, snorted, and forcibly hid his snout and optics with his front paws. Was he going to have to deal with the Thirteen bickering in his helm this for the rest of his life or was this some sort of transition phase where they were incredibly chatty and had some sort of dubious plot to give him a processor ache? If so, then he was about ready to grab a metaphorical gun and start shooting at them. Couldn't he just have like, maybe ten minutes of mental quiet time? Not that he didn't like them (well, _most_ of them, having now met Liege Maximo), he just wanted some mental quietness every once in a while.

Prowl smiled wryly at the sight. Smokescreen had always been the impatient one of the trio – impatient but kind-sparked. In Prowl's mind, that was probably the reason Optimus had singled him out. He was the kind of mech to get things done, but he would stick to Autobot morals when push came to shove.

Infernus jumped back to his paws when Bumblebee finally arrived back. He relayed that it was still dark out at the Lerna site seeing as it was on the other side of the globe, so no one was around save for some excavation equipment and abandoned survey tents. Judging from how fresh some of the tracks were, and from the smell of diesel in the air, they probably only had till dawn or a little later before the archaeologists returned to work. No 'Cons so far as he'd seen, but that could change in minutes.

* _So let's get moving._ * Bumblebee finished.

Infernus didn't waste any time and promptly darted into the open groundbridge, Bumblebee following quite literally right on his tail.

* * *

He'd never been to Greece before. He doubted it would resemble the landscape painted by the old stories, but he also suspected it would not be wholly modern. In short, Infernus had no idea what to expect of the archaeological site of Lerna, home of the poisonous, many-headed Hydra of legend – so hugely poisonous its mere breath was said to be deadly – and slain by the mighty half-god Hercules. Subconsciously he admitted he was suspecting an eerie swamp with pervading mists, foul smelling and dank.

What he saw when he stepped out of the groundbridge was an aged, rugged landscape of worn grey stone, pale brown, sand-like soil, and lush green grass swaying gently on coastal breezes. Stars twinkled in the clear skies above, singing their faint harmonies of electromagnetic radiation. From the hill he and Bumblebee stood on, a low indentation in the ground could be seen in the near distance, and scattered around were excavations and survey tents. Faintly discernible as well was a ruined structure of carved stone.

Basically it was the exact _opposite_ of what he'd been thinking Lerna would look like. He was expecting a swamp. He was looking instead at a pleasant if somewhat dry landscape. Seriously though – why was it that Earth ruins tended to look so much... _nicer_ than Cybertronian ones? Ruins back home looked depressing and grungy. Earth ones held a certain grandeur to them.

* _So what're we looking for exactly?_ * he wondered.

* _Hydra was supposed to be a massive, multi-headed, hugely poisonous serpent or water monster that lived in the lake. Over there._ * Bumblebee pointed out towards the dried lake bed. * _Also had the ability to regenerate two heads when one was decapitated. Only way to stop that healing was to cauterize the stumps.*_

 _*...So, what, we're looking for a headless monster buried under the lake somewhere?_ *

* _Or the heads._ *

Infernus shuddered but endeavored to put a brave face on it. He spread his wings and flew over as the scout followed beneath him. The instant he arrived in the lake bed the Matrix seemed to react, pulsing faintly. Images he didn't recognize as his own flashes before his optics like visual static:

 _Water. Submergence. Fighting. Screams and hisses of defiance. Fire_ _–_ _scalding, burning through his veins and igniting the Energon inside. Screams of pain. Then...darkness._

He took the hint. He was definitely in the right area. Now to just find the monster's body – or whatever was left of it after all this time. And so, focusing on the spot where the static visions became the most frequent and intense, he retracted his claws and began to dig. His claws easily dug through the sandy, silt-laden soil, but he did not hit on a find until he had dug nearly seven feet down.

Bumblebee wandered over, clicking curiously: * _Find something?_ *

* _Look for yourself._ * Infernus pulled back so the scout could see into the pit he'd dug.

Staring up at them from the slightly damp soil was a distinctly reptilian looking skull made of grey metal that had been horribly burned from fire and rusted away from the water it had lain in for centuries, fangs bared in a final snarl of defiance. Just peeking out of the side of the pit were the tips of another set of identical fangs. On closer examination of this second set of fangs, a hole was revealed in the tip of each – eerily mimicking the venomous fangs of modern snakes.

* _Unicron in the Pit. I don't believe it! You found the Hydra!_ * the scout exclaimed.

Bumblebee readied to reach down and grab the former skull, but was pulled back by Infernus. He warned him that there was an odd smell around the skull – sharp, tangy, and definitely toxic. Even after being dead for centuries and buried beneath the lake, some of its lethal poison still remained. Whatever poison it held in its fangs, it was virulent enough to kill a human in seconds, and if the legend was to be believed, even melt their skin off. He was no medic, but that kind of strong poison could probably hurt a 'Bot, too.

* _Wait a klik. You don't think...?_ * Bumblebee's optics widened.

Infernus nodded. * _Tox-En. This thing wasn't just immune to it_ _–_ _it had the stuff pumping in its systems. Can you imagine the 'Cons getting their hands on a remade Hydra? We'd be dead as soon as they let that thing on the battlefield._ *

"Precisely. Which is why you will hand the remains over to me. I'll even see to it that your deaths are quick if you do."

They wheeled around. Standing there in the pale moonlight was a tall, lanky grey Seeker mech. A cruel, twisted little smirk was visible on his lip-plates. At his side was a small contingent of Vehicons repainted to mirror his color scheme, blasters raised and pointed right at them.

* _Starscream._ *

* * *

 **Author's Note: The idea for implementing Greek (and other) monsters came thanks to that little artsy "flashback" type thing when Megatron/Shockwave were explaining about the Predacons stationed on Earth in the distant past. One of those creatures had 2(?) heads and very much resembled classical depictions of the Hydra. Its tolerance for Tox-En makes logical sense, since every myth ever describing it told it to be so poisonous that even its breath was deadly, and since Autobots (or perhaps Neutrals; we don't really know) were shown running from these creatures, it just goes to show how dangerous they were to both human and Cybertronian.**

 **Also, I'm a mythology buff. x3**


	10. Chapter 10: On The Edge

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 10

* _Note to Kaleia: Yeah, the "psychic" thing kind of made sense in my mind. Optimus was hugely intelligent, no argument there, but there are some things you sort of wonder how he knew. In any event, the Matrix is a mystical artifact, so mystical "side effects" are pretty much a no brainer in my mind. It's not psychic, not really. It's more like indirect reverse clairvoyance_ _–_ _seeing something from the views of someone else that has already happened. He always talked about "perspective," so maybe there was a hidden reason for that._

 _That recorded message from Alpha Trion is a good example of the Matrix's mystical side. If anyone else had picked up the Saber, nothing would've happened, and the way it was displayed showed it very plainly as a bizarre "out of body" experience. He was technically in the silo, but at the same time he was also somewhere else and effectively speaking to Alpha Trion himself. That frankly did not seem like a recording to me. That was far too...direct. Also, his optics glowing? Another hint at mystical weirdness going on._

 _Note 2: When you said "That's...Cool." I honestly don't know what tone you're using there. Are you happy with that or not? o.O I like my readers happy. I don't like unhappy ones. I feel like a failure then. D:_

 _But yeah. Starscream's not exactly one to think things through very well, is he? But make no mistake: here, he knows just he's doing._

* * *

Infernus bared his fangs and snarled at the stiletto-heeled creep across from him, the sound so vicious that it actually made Bumblebee look at him oddly. He was pleased to note the Seeker tense and flinch back, obviously recalling the last time he'd tried to fight him; some of the injuries from that last encounter were still plainly visible – gouges, scratches, bite marks, scorch marks. If a beast-related wound could be named, Starscream bore one. And from that wary look in his optics, he didn't want a repeat of being beaten within an inch of his life like last time.

* _Yeah? How about if you turn around and run away I don't re-open some of those welds and make 'em a hundred times worse?_ *

Starscream growled softly but it was clear he was debating listening to such a warning. Vividly he recalled the pain the Primeling had inflicted on him in his grief-stricken wrath at Darkmount. A small number of those wounds Knockout had told him would never fully heal and would instead remain as unsightly scars – reminders to never cross him when he was foul-tempered. But he was perceptive enough to note a faint hesitation in Infernus's optics, even if his body language said otherwise.

He smirked. "You won't do it. That would be against your precious moral code. Optimus wouldn't be too happy with you if you killed me."

The Primeling permitted himself a toothy smile. His claws retracted. * _Oh yeah? Willing to risk another beating to prove me wrong?_ *

He snarled savagely again, then snapping in the Seeker's direction. Again the grey Seeker flinched back, red optics becoming more and more wary as he realized that he quite possibly _was_ serious and _would_ take his life if the situation called for it. The Vehicons, stubbornly loyal creatures they were, dealt with this threat display of his a little better, merely tensing and training their weapons on him with far more scrutiny. But they still appeared understandably nervous.

* _I took you down once. I'll slagging well do it again. You know why? You're a coward, 'Scream. You're scared to face me, and you're scared to face death. So run along and neither of those things will happen. Okay? This thing is dangerous to both sides. If you let Shockwave clone this thing, you won't be able to control it. It'll poison your troops before you can even set it on us. Let us take it. We'll get rid of it safely._ *

Starscream's smirk transformed into a twisted frown. The Primeling did make a sensible point, but he was nowhere near the persuader that Optimus had been. He had been given the task of collecting this particular tracker-chipped fossil by Megatron, and he was damned if he failed in the mission. After all, the warlord was not happy with him for abandoning him to his fight with Smokescreen. This was his surefire way of redeeming himself. He thus jerked a hand to his soldiers.

"I'll be taking that skull from your dead body if I have to!"

And just like that the Seeker's little armada opened fire, pelting him with energy shots that did little except irritate him. Starscream's missiles did a little more thanks to some upgrades, pounding against his metal hide and exploding with shrapnel that tore into his metal hide like serrated teeth. Another shrapnel-laden missile compounded the bleeding further. Soon his white hide was stained with the pale blue of oozing Energon, the precious fluid dripping to the ground, staining the soil beneath him.

* _Smoke! You okay?!_ * Bumblebee trilled, doing his best to keep the Decepticons off him with concentrated gunfire. It was a wonder he was still standing. Primus, that was a lot of Energon coming out of him...

Rearing back, Infernus spat out a whirlwind of all-consuming flames from his maw. Two of the Vehicons got caught in the lethal firestorm while the others, plus their commander, nimbly dodged out of the way and continued to fire at him. Ignoring the stinging of his wounds, he charged forward and leapt onto one of the three remaining Vehicons, rending its chest open with his claws and spewing fire into the open cavity. The Vehicon thrashed at the agonizing pain, screaming. Then it fell still.

He then surged at the second, whirling around, the spear-tip of his tail impaling it in the neck. The Vehicon choked harshly, Energon gushing from its pierced neck lines. One flick of his tail severed the cables and sent the detached helm flying off into the distance, the body jerking once, twice, before finally falling with a soft thud on the already fuel-stained ground. Its lifeblood proceeded to flow in a torrential river from where its helm used to be. A stream of fire stopped the flow, cauterizing the ends of the lines by melting the openings together.

The third and final one suffered the fate of the first – he tackled it to the ground, tore its chest open, and spewed fire into its exposed spark chamber. Like the first it screamed and thrashed as the searing fire scalded its internals. He watched its spark sputter and go out like a candle being snuffed, the delicate sphere of life energy unable to take the heat. He could've sworn he heard a whispered voice thank him just as that happened – thank him for the cleansing and the release from service in the manner of a warrior.

Bumblebee had the grace to gape. He hadn't seen Smokescreen fight at Darkmount, but what he'd just witnessed – an efficiency that was both brutal and savage – he well understood Megatron's call to retreat that day.

With that task done, he turned to Starscream, stalking towards him whilst emitting a low growl. The Seeker himself looked utterly terrified now, his red optics as wide as they could physically go, wings down and trembling, fear chemicals readily detectable to the Primeling's powerful olfactory sensors. His blaster arm quivered as it followed Infernus's movements. And judging from what he was looking at – an Energon-soaked Predacon who had just dispatched his little squadron with disturbing ease, he well _should_ be terrified.

Before Starscream could make a run for it, Infernus charged at him, knocking him to the ground and pinning him there. Snarling, he gave a warning snap at first his neck, then his faceplates. And yet he did not finish the Seeker off. Much as he wanted to, he found himself unwilling to snap his neck as he had with the Vehicon. He loathed Starscream about as much as any other Autobot, but he did not like killing, for each time he made a kill the Matrix itself seemed to protest it, not to mention it brought their race as a whole just that much closer to total extinction. A life, no matter how corrupt, was still a life.

* _Get out_.* the Primeling hissed. * _Before I change my mind._ *

Starscream managed a terrified nod of his helm. Infernus then got off him and watched as flew away into the sky, panicked. He was soon lost from sight.

Infernus simply stood there for a moment, air intakes heavy as the pain of his injuries finally caught up with him at last. His vision was beginning to go all blurry from loss of Energon, and he felt weird and light-helmed, too. Alerts for Energon loss flickered in the corners of his optics. He turned to the scout, transforming with a faint grunt of effort, and then proceeded to topple over like a felled tree, the world blurring even further before finally going dark.

* * *

Bumblebee reacted in a flash. He darted over to the unconscious form, at the same time opening an emergency distress channel back to the hangar. Ratchet answered almost instantly, demanding what was the matter. When he reported that Smokescreen had taken a hell of a beating from two shrapnel missiles courtesy of Starscream, the old medic let out a hissed curse.

[How bad is he?]

[* _Unconscious and looks like he got a new paint job of pale_ _blue._ *] Bumblebee replied dryly. [* _He's in-taking air, but they're real shallow, and it sounds like the Energon he's leaking is starting to clog his vents up. I know basic first-aid, but he's...it's bad, Ratch. Real bad. You need to get over here, like, right now. If we don't get this bleeding stopped pronto, I don't think he's gonna make it. For once, 'Scream knew exactly what he was doing. He came prepared._ *]

In answer, a swirling turquoise portal opened up on the ridge where they'd arrived. Out of it drove Ratchet, Bulkhead, and Ultra Magnus who came speeding over to the excavation site. They arrived at the scout's side and transformed, giving Ratchet room to work. The old medic wasted no time, grabbing his kit from the Commander and selecting a few of his tools – an arc welder, animesh, and what looked like a giant pair of sci-fi pincers. Without turning his attention away from his patient, he crisply ordered Bumblebee to keep a look out. The scout obeyed wordlessly.

He set to work removing the ugly pieces of twisted metal that had embedded themselves in Infernus's white plating, slightly unnerved that he displayed no response. While each piece removed seemed to compound the bleeding, removing them would actually allow for the Primeling's repair systems to begin to work properly. That shrapnel was doing nothing but obstructing them. Regardless, he used his powerful arc welder to seal some of the more life-threatening breaches. They weren't permanent welds by any means. They were meant to simply stem the flow and keep the precious fuel inside him while he worked. Permanent welds could come once they had him back within the safe confines of Hangar E.

Once done with the major wounds Ratchet turned to the more minor ones. A number of these looked merely cosmetic, but a greater number were more significant and posed a real danger. These he sealed with his in-built line welders and covered with strips of animesh – special bandages comprised of thin sheets of highly malleable metal. They would help prevent further leaking, keep some of the more vital welds in place, and stimulate his repair systems.

Infernus's air intake cycles became smoother, less wheezy after this treatment, but they still remained shallow, and he still remained caked in his own spilled fuel.

The medic rose. "I've done what I can out here. We need to get him back to the hangar so I can continue patching him up. We're dangerously exposed out here, and he needs Energon to replace what he's lost. I'll need your assistance in moving him, both of you."

Bulkhead balked a little on hearing this. All the way back up the ridge? With fresh welds? Was that even safe?

Well aware of the absurdity of such a request, Ratchet contacted Rafael back at the hangar and sent him a new set of coordinates. The boy did not disappoint. A pale sea-foam green groundbridge swirled to life almost right on top of the gathering. Though still unconscious, Infernus did seem to react subtly to the soft roar the portal made, though it was barely noticeable. To Ratchet this was a very good sign. It meant he was still functioning, if only just. With as much Energon as he had lost it was a miracle he was still online to begin with. His scanners revealed his spark to be fluctuating from the sudden interruption of energy.

As gently as they could, Ultra Magnus and Bulkhead hefted the unconscious form between themselves and carted him through, Bumblebee grabbing the unearthed skull out of its earthen pit and following them. Then the portal snapped shut.

In the light of the half moon, a piece of jagged metal glittered faintly at the bottom of the pit...

* * *

The hangar had been suffused with panic ever since Ultra Magnus, Bulkhead, and Ratchet had come through with the Energon-soaked form of Infernus, Bumblebee coming through with a snake-like skull in one hand a mere second before the portal behind him closed. Bluestreak had given a cry of alarm and had tried to rush forward. Prowl held him back, expression impassive but spark pounding anxiously. All the aliens had seen gory wounds before, but this was the worst any had seen in a long time.

Above, the three teens had hurried to the railings, mouths agape and eyes round in horror at the ghastly site below.

"Oh my God...What happened to him?" Jack demanded, blue-grey eyes wide. His hands gripped the railing tight enough for knuckles to turn white.

Bumblebee emitted a low, sharp drone. "Starscream." Rafael translated quietly.

He had been placed on the sole medical berth, precious fuel still dripping from his body and pooling on the ground. Only the welds covering him convinced the others that the fuel wasn't fresh; that he wasn't losing any more was some small consolation. He had already lost a great deal of it, and they didn't have much of the stuff to spare. Using even a small amount of what little they had would cause their reserves to dwindle further.

Ratchet had set back to work in an instant, setting up what little medical equipment he had managed to take from Omega One before its destruction to keep his patient stable. Optics on his arm-mounted monitor, he removed some of the animesh and made the already present welds stronger and more permanent. He set up an Energon drip in order to replenish that which the Primeling had lost, unheeding (and frankly uncaring) that their reserves were now down by two cubes. In his mind such a sacrifice was worth it. He then put him in stasis lock.

Optimus had told him to keep them all alive. And he slagging well wasn't about to fail him in that promise. Energon could be replaced in the end. Smokescreen couldn't. Like Optimus, Smokescreen wasn't just the leader of the group – he was a symbol for them to rally around when hope seemed like a fool's fantasy. Remove that symbol and they might as well give up the fight.

Once Smokescreen was hooked up and sealed up, Ratchet drew back. "I've done what I can for him. The rest is up to him. All we can do now is wait."

"H-He'll be okay though, won't he?" Bulkhead wondered. He'd seen too many 'Bots die because of this war – good mechs and femmes, all of them. But Smokescreen? He was just too young. It would be like watching a kitten die.

Ratchet shook his helm. His expression was haggard, uncertain. "I don't know. For once, I don't know..."

* * *

 _Dark. Darkness around. Cool, inviting darkness interwoven with silvery strands of glowing, star-studded mist. It snaked and wove around the white form that lay prone and senseless on the ground. The mist bound his many wounds while the stars above, within, and below sang a soft healing chorus. Soon the mist thickened, taking the shape of tall, well-built mech that emitted a faint silvery light like the full moon. Its entire form wafted and flowed as if subject to an invisible breeze._

 _The mist mech knelt and stayed by the unconscious white youngling before it. He could pull through this the mist mech seemed to whisper, though no mouth was apparent on its faceplates. He must not give in to the temptation to lay down arms for good. He was stronger than that. He had friends, worried and anxious, waiting for him outside this place between places. He was here to heal only. He was not to stay._

 _The prone figure heard these whispered encouragements and stirred, blue optics opening slowly, painfully. For a moment they looked around blearily until they fell on the strange mist mech. They then went round in fear and apprehension, unable as they were to recognize the mysterious misty figure. It sure didn't look like anyone he knew. When the mist mech reached out to him, he tried to move away only to wince, his entire body screaming in protest at the motion._

 _More whispering met the white figure's audials. He was not to move. Doing so only agitated his wounds. If he would lie still, he would continue binding them. But if he kept trying to skirt away that task would only be made more difficult. Harming was not its intention the mist mech reassured._

 _Infernus didn't have the strength to argue, and that faint humming coming from seemingly everywhere at once was making him so very tired..._

 _The mist mech watched as the Primeling slipped under from the effects of the wordless harmonies flowing all around, a soft smile seeming to form and dissipate on its ever-shifting faceplates. Then it dissolved into dozens of misty, star-studded tendrils that wove around him like ghostly bandages, their glow increasing slightly to where they resembled strips of moonlight. Slowly, the wounds marring the young mech's frame began to heal._

 _"Yes. Rest. Heal. But do not linger here, child. The longer you remain, the more tied to this place you become. To become fully tied would mean leaving your friends behind...permanently. The time will come when you can lay down arms and join the others in the light, but not today. That day is far from now. Today you return to them."_

 _Infernus stirred weakly on hearing these words echo in his mind. He heeded the given warning, his subconscious knowing it was all too true. He would stay just long enough to mend. But he so wanted to stay longer in the comforting darkness and soft healing light. Something about this place seemed to call to his very spark, beg him to stay forever..._

* * *

Tense silence pervaded the hangar, interrupted only by the soft hiss of Infernus's slow air intakes. No one dared speak as time ticked by, fearful that if they did something horrible might happen, even if they knew well enough that speaking posed no danger to the recovering Primeling. All the while, Ratchet hovered nearby at his console as he dove deep into Earth mythology in search of Predacons with wireless help from the three teenagers, his optics constantly straying to where his patient lay. He looked to be recovering, but far too slowly for his liking.

The silence was broken at last when the sound of a growling engine was discerned approaching the hangar. A rugged Jeep pulled up to the entrance driven by a familiar young man in crisp military garb, silver dog tags jingling around his neck and identifying him – Marcus Daily, Private E-2. For a brief fraction of a second a happy smile showed on his face as he shut the Jeep down. Then his eyes went wide when he gazed into the hangar and saw the fuel-stained form of his friend lying motionless on an exam table. Jaw slackening, the man rushed out of the vehicle in a mad haste and pelted inside.

"Infernus!"

Arcee stopped the man in his tracks, one hand holding him back as effectively as a barbed wire fence. Quickly and quietly she explained everything that Bumblebee had said had happened. Daily's face went white even as his fists clenched angrily.

"Is there...anything I can do? I mean, I know a Cybertronian and an Earth car are two totally different things, but I do know basic mechanics..."

Ratchet joined the hushed conversation then. Abandoning his console for the moment, he came over and crouched down to address him: "No. I've done everything that could conceivably be done with what little I have. All we can do is wait. The rest is up to him."

"You don't mind if I stick around, then?"

"I see no harm in that." admitted the medic.

Thanking him with a silent nod, Daily made his way over to the unconscious Primeling. He took a seat on the ground at the base of the exam table, knees pulling up to let his chin rest on them. He listened to the faint intermittent drip-drip of the glowing blue liquid as it hit the ground around him. His smartphone buzzed quietly in his side pocket as a call came through from Neal. After a short moment of deliberation he swiped a finger across the red "x" on the touch screen display. Daily then put the device on silent and stashed it in his pocket once more. Almost unconsciously he looked upwards, noting Infernus's slow air cycling and the unsteady blips of his spark on the nearby monitor.

' _Come on, Infernus. Come on back to us. We're waiting for you..._ '

* * *

 _A voice entered the strange realm of darkness and mist. Not much more than a whisper, the unconscious white figure recovering on the ground heard it and stirred weakly out of its enforced slumber. Compared to the other whisperings that pervaded this place it was faint, almost inaudible, but it held a property they did not_ _–_ _incentive and, more importantly, familiarity. It called to him stronger than they did. As badly as the place called for him to stay here for all eternity, the familiar whispered voice called out louder._

 _He struggled to his knees, noting that the weird glowing mist still clung to the spots where semi-healed injuries marked Starscream's success. The mist seemed to sense his desire to get up and get out of this place, and it dutifully unwound itself. Briefly the mysterious mist mech coalesced before dissipating on an invisible wind, yet its voice still persisted._

 _"Go now. Return to them."_

 _The Primeling hesitated briefly as he turned to walk off in what he felt was the right direction, noticing a silvery-golden glow in the distance. Sounds of laughter and merry-making reached him, momentarily drowning out the persistent whisper of familiarity. A wistful, longing smile formed. Unconsciously he reached out...and a tendril of mist very much resembling a hand pulled the rebellious limb down._

 _"Not today, youngling. You will join them eventually, but not now. Remember your promise."_

 _He shook his helm to clear it, understanding that going into that tempting light would mean abandoning those he protected. Nodding, he spun and darted off in the opposite direction. The mist mech re-formed and watched as the white figure faded into the distance. Soon, he vanished into the gloom altogether. Then it, too, disappeared._

* * *

The sun was starting to lower in the sky outside. Almost five hours had passed since Infernus had been put under. Ratchet was frankly starting to worry the Primeling might never come around. Stable as the equipment said he was, doubt was creeping into his spark. He had seen and tended many grisly war wounds in his time, but he had yet to see a 'Bot survive shrapnel missiles fired at near point blank range. Starscream unfortunately had known precisely how to inflict maximum trauma on the youngling. Shockwave no doubt had a hand in it, the devious scraplet. If he could create a Predacon, he knew how to kill one, too.

Daily was just beginning to doze off when a sharp hiss of air and a faint whirring met his ears. He jumped up in an instant, noting the hopeful stares of everyone else as the white mech stirred at long last. He wisely moved out of the way as Bluestreak pelted forward. Before anyone could even think to stop him he had reached the medical berth and flung his arms around Infernus.

"You're okay!"

"Ow! Ow, ow, ow! Bluestreak, ow! Let go please! Everything slagging hurts!"

* * *

 **Authors's Note: So sorry for the short-ish chapters of late. Been _very_ busy. Also, very likely I'll only manage to finish my next chapter of "Nature of the Beast" thanks to Finals Week coming up next week. I hate being busy! Hate tests, too. That's only a week and a half, but still...Hopefully once winter break starts I'll get back into the lovely abyss of binge writing. ;3**


	11. Chapter 11: Don't Mess with the Medic

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 11

* _Note to Kaleia:_ _Ha-ha, good. Yeah, the internet is not a good way of conveying emotion. Unless it's worded properly, it can be pretty damned hard to tell what someone's tone of voice is if all you've got to work off of is typed words, and I'm the unfortunate sod who has a mental issue thing that makes it more difficult tell in any event, so that just makes it harder for me in general. Bleh._

 _Yeah. 'Scream may be a backstabbing little weasel of a coward but he is intelligent. That's what makes him so dangerous in my mind. A lot of his plots are subversive and intended to throw a wrench into the works, confuse everyone and give him the opening he needs. Remember what Optimus said in the episode with the glacier melting scheme: "Starscream is far from predictable." His plans are nowhere near as straightforward as Megatron's. Because here's the thing: overconfidence doesn't necessarily equate to incompetence._

 _Um. I would, but here's the thing_ _–_ _I know absolutely nothing about SM. Sooo...o-o. Yeah. I'm just not much of an anime person._

* * *

If not for the genuine pain in his voice, Daily might've snickered. As it was he managed a wry smile. It was good to see that despite the pain the well-meant hug was giving him that he was able to crack a bit of a dry joke about it. That was the kind of mech he'd come to appreciate – the sort to never let his pain, whether internal or external, truly and completely get the best of him. He always managed to quip or snark about something no matter how dark the moment might be or become. He was the Autobots' living flame of hope, the persistently burning candle in an otherwise pitch black room. And like any flame, so long as it was provided fuel, it would keep on burning.

Prowl eventually managed to coax Bluestreak off the recovering youngling with a little verbal assistance from Ratchet. The gunner didn't seem happy with this course of action but was visibly elated nonetheless. One didn't have to be psychic to understand why. His sibling was alive and was going to be okay despite his wounds. That was all that mattered to him. Wounds healed. So would Infernus.

Off to one side, arms folded over his chestplates, Ultra Magnus observed: "Good to have you back, Prime. You had us worried."

"Worried? Try totally freaked out!" Miko corrected. "We didn't think you'd...we thought..."

Infernus looked at her curiously. Her voice had unmistakably quivered when she'd spoken even if her tone was still strong and lively as ever. It was unlike Miko to get upset over anyone except Bulkhead and Wheeljack. That she was so about him distressed took the Primeling by surprise. He noted that all three of the kids had expressions that were all plainly evolving from worried to relieved – Raf looked like he'd had a mountain lifted off his little shoulders and was smiling happily while Jack was a bit more taught but no less pleased at his recovery. They all looked as though they'd just gotten out of a long, strenuous ordeal, and the stress hormones lingering in the air affirmed that.

His gaze wandered over to June, the nurse's tight smile showing she had been just as concerned for him. Considering the rocky start he had had with her, he was happy that she seemed to be putting that "incident" with Jack behind her. He supposed that, like Cybertronian medics, human nurses had that same line of code that demanded they help their patient regardless of what they'd done in the past or even if they were the same species. That was another thing the two races seemed to share with each other, and an interesting one it was.

"You alright?" asked the nurse. "You looked a little...disoriented."

He smiled wryly, judging it best not to inform anyone of the strange place and presence he'd been in for a while. That might cause unneeded alarm or worry. He believed in telling the truth, but here he considered it best not to tell the whole truth. Partial honesty was still technically honesty if what you were actually saying was still true.

"I'm fine. You know, if you term 'fine' as feeling like you got chewed alive by sharks and then shoved through a slagging wood chopper just for giggles afterwards. And then run over by an angry city-former. So yeah. 'Fine' is a relative term here. So I'm pretty much lying like there's no tomorrow when I say I'm 'fine'."

The Primeling was pleased to hear her muffle a snort of laughter, her visibly tense body relaxing. Any lingering tension in the hangar seemed to disperse then. His smile became less wry and more genuine. Ah, dry humor – the most surefire way of convincing everybody he was okay and to stop the fussing already. Amalgamous was right on all accounts. A good laugh fixed any bad or dark situation, no matter if the humorous comment wasn't really worded to be funny.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be laughing." June apologized. "It's just the way you worded that was...unusual. Even for you."

"I'm weird like that."

June smiled.

He tried to get up only to wince at the pain the movement caused. The pain confused him. That strange mist guy had said he wanted to heal him, and from the lessened pain he'd suffered while...wherever he'd really been it was pretty clear he'd been successful, at least partially. But why then did he still hurt so much? If he hadn't healed him physically, what exactly had he done?

Ratchet heard the noise and came over, scolding him: "Ep, ep! Don't you even think about! You are staying put until I say you can move!"

He groaned but complacently lay his helm back down and stayed as still as possible. Seemingly satisfied, the prickly medic withdrew. A spurt of mischievousness flashed in the Primeling's optics while a smirk formed on his lip-plates. As quietly as he could he tried to lift his helm up and look down at the base of the medical berth where he was picking up a human life signal. Before he could even fully complete the act, Ratchet spun around and eyed him through narrow optics, pointing at him in a silent warning.

"Don't. Test. Me."

Infernus eyed him warily. "Dude, you're scary."

" _Good._ "

The Primeling looked over at the human nurse with a pair of big, terrified, pleading puppy optics and mouthed "save me." June in turn covered her mouth with a hand to hide the massive smile that was forming, doing her best to muffle a snicker of amusement. In spite of all the pain he was no doubt feeling from his wounds he was still able to crack jokes and tease out laughter from those around him. She couldn't help but admire him for that.

"Sorry Infernus. As a nurse, my hands are tied. Healer's words are pretty much law right now. I'm not nearly as well versed in Cybertronian medicine as Ratchet is, but even I can tell you're in no state to be moving around. Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look like you just came out of some alien horror film. No. You're staying here so you can recuperate, not because Ratchet or I want to put you under house arrest or anything."

He looked at himself out of curiosity, his air cycles hitching at what he saw. June's words were true enough. With all the dried Energon caking his frame he really did look like he'd stepped out of a grisly horror movie to have a chat with the terror-stricken audience. He knew he'd lost a great deal thanks to the warnings he'd gotten just before he had blacked out but...this was marginally disturbing to him. It set half-formed thoughts about his strange encounter while out of it into motion. A cold sensation flashed through his spark as realization struck him with the force of an oncoming train.

That place he'd been...The strange mist entity who had healed him in the comforting darkness, warning him not to stay longer than necessary lest he lose everything near and dear to him...And that light he'd seen that had tempted him so dangerously...

His optics widened. He'd nearly _died_.

"Kid? Somethin' wrong?" Bulkhead wondered. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

Infernus outright lied then: "No. I-I'm good. Nothing's wrong..."

Bulkhead eyed him a bit dubiously but in the end decided not to press the issue. The kid was almost hilariously easy to read and so he had caught the lie almost right away. But in accordance with his being easy to read, the Wrecker had the sense he was lying so as not to worry anyone, not because he wanted to deceive them on purpose. Smokescreen was many things, but a pathological liar? Not one 'em. He would come out with the information when he was ready.

* * *

Daily watched these interactions for a time from his spot on the floor. He had the feeling Infernus was well aware of his presence but was too wary of getting Ratchet even more riled up by being active and trying to talk to him. Internally he laughed a little. The man didn't blame him. That mech was nightmare fuel when he was ticked at you. Prickly didn't even begin to describe the old alien healer. According to Fowler, disobey his orders and there was a real risk of him thwacking you over the head with the nearest item at hand.

That wariness of his didn't seem to hold the Primeling back entirely though he noted humorously. He quickly found a rather clever loophole: the man's Bluetooth. One pinging sound later and Infernus's voice rang clearly in Daily's ear.

* _Hi Mark. What are you doing over here?_ _I thought you said were super busy._ *

It took all of the man's willpower not to break out laughing. He knew more than a few stubborn soldiers and people who refused to let injuries stop them but Infernus seriously took the cake. Hacking a Bluetooth to have a sneakily casual conversation was smart of him – something _only_ a Cybertronian could pull off so easily – but he was directly disobeying a medic's orders in the process. When said medic was Ratchet of all people, that took a certain degree of outright tenacious stupidity. That guy did not fool around in caring for his patients.

And by replying to his oh-so-innocently casual question, he'd alert the old medic of the act. Obviously the Primeling hadn't thought this _completely_ through. Oh well. Live and learn he supposed.

"Well, ah, I was." Daily answered while noting the scowl Ratchet was giving the both of them. "I was actually on my way back from command when I passed by here and...saw what had happened to you. I've actually been here for a couple of hours. Ratchet let me hang around. He...thought it might help."

He noted the curiosity in Infernus's tone when he asked: * _Command? What, you get in trouble or something? Spending too much time with the aliens?_ *

"Heh. Nah. Nothing like that. I was just over there to see if they okay'ed my request. They did."

* _And that was?_ *

"I, well, I asked to be assigned as your...partner. You know, so I can give you a hand when you need it. I am trained in combat too, so you can safely smuggle me out into the field if you need an extra set of eyes watching your back – a set of eyes that have 20/20 vision and whose owner just so happens to be armed with an AK-47."

Infernus ignored Ratchet's warning not to move around then. He was so stunned at this that he leaned over the side of the berth and stared at the man as if he hadn't heard him right. Daily had requested the higher ups to be assigned to him as a human companion? That was...he was speechless. First the talking-to and encouragement, then the interactions with him and Neal at the automotive shop, now this? Judging from the stares everyone else in the hangar was giving the young private, they were just as surprised.

"What...you...I..." the youngling stammered, optics wide as a puppy's. Then they softened and a smile formed. "Thanks, Mark."

Daily smiled back, saluting casually. "Not a problem. Figured you wouldn't mind having me around or smuggling me on a mission or two. Ha! Neal's gonna be jealous."

Ratchet's frown faded away, replaced by a much kinder looking smile of his own that was still somehow stern. The youth would only benefit from this arrangement. And having a second responsible adult human around – a competent, combat trained soldier no less – to help keep Miko under control sounded like yet another advantage. Not only was he emotional support for Infernus, he was also actually useful. He wasn't quite the battlefield liability the children were.

"Alright. That's enough you two. Smokescreen, you need to rest so your repair systems can work. Mark, if you're insistent on staying perhaps you can go retrieve that gun of yours? Normal human weapons like that don't exactly do much against our armor, but perhaps I can modify it somewhat to be a bit more practical. I gathered some information on some of the long-range weapons MECH employs against us. Now might be the time to put it to good use."

Daily nodded and went off on his errand.

* * *

As soon as his partner was gone the Primeling comically groaned in protest, rolling his optics. He wasn't tired, and he had no desire to just sit back and do nothing. Megatron's forces were out there right now trying to find more Predacon fossils! Was he just supposed to lay back, let the time tick by, and let them get their oily hands on them? Nuh-uh. He'd stopped them from being able to clone a Hydra but some of the other monsters detailed in terrestrial myths were just as dangerous, if not more so.

' _Infernus, honestly._ ' Vector chided. ' _You are injured and you are not going to heal in an instant. Don't make me have Liege put you under._ '

He rolled his optics again. The Time Guardian just didn't get it. Did he not understand the pressure of finding the fossils before the 'Cons? If they so much as got one claw or tooth those maniacs could clone a creature capable of wiping them out in its sleep or something. That Hydra had been just one of many, and judging from the myriad other myths it was just the tip of the iceberg.

' _Yes, I do understand. I know you despise being inactive and I understand your urgency in locating and securing these remains as quickly as possible. But I also know that you are in no condition at the moment to be hunting down Decepticons. I do not need to be able to see further down the time stream to know that such reckless action would end only in disaster._ '

' _Do yourself a favor and recover before doing anything stupid, kid._ ' Liege added. ' _Once you can manage to move without wincing, then you can go do something stupid._ '

Wow. The devious Trickster actually being helpful and offering sane advice? He must be unconscious and dreaming by now.

' _Very funny. Nice sarcasm though._ '

Optimus rumbled gently:

' _Smokescreen, please. Ratchet is simply trying to ensure your continued survival. I did task him with that. And need I remind you that by ignoring his orders you are going against your promise to me to always listen to your allies. Is that really something you want to do? If you want to earn their full trust and respect, then listen to Ratchet's advice. Get some rest. Recover. You are of no use in the field if you can barely move without agitating your sensory net._ '

At that he capitulated. Contrite, he apologized to the the senior Prime. He hadn't meant to sound forcibly ignorant or stubborn. He just didn't like the concept of sitting back and letting the 'Cons get ten steps ahead. Right now such an achieved head start was literal suicide with Shockwave around cloning monsters. And frankly with that threat looming over his helm his processor refused to slow down enough for the power down protocols to initiate. It kept generating ugly possibilities that might occur if they failed. And that would only lead to nightmares.

As he lay there, processor whirring away, a subtle warmth began to spread outward from the Matrix. Try as he might to resist it, he found himself unable to. The sensation was odd, unlike the sensations he'd felt from it in the past, but it was immeasurably soothing, lessening the dull ache in his frame that refused to leave him. It slowed his overactive processor, enticing him to relax. What was an hour or so of down time in a war that had lasted for millions of years? it seemed to ask. He could afford some rest. Besides – doctor's orders, right?

' _...This is cheating and you guys know it._ '

Within moments, the young Prime was unconscious.

* * *

Ratchet did not have to wait long for Daily to return. The low rumble of the Army Jeep met his audials within fifteen or so minutes. He watched the vehicle pull up and the young private jump out. Slung across his chest and over one shoulder was a thick strap of leather that hadn't been there before. It didn't take much to guess that the strap was attached to his weapon. The man was certainly prompt in response time – he'd give him that. How well he fared in armed combat remained to be seen.

A smile tugged at his lip-plates when the three teens ran down to greet him, Miko asking to see his gun and Daily wisely abstaining. There was just something about the man that reminded him of Orion. He had this... _way_ with others, this kind of magnetic effect that one couldn't help but be affected by. It was almost like looking at what would have happened if the gentle archivist had not been named a Prime and had simply become a soldier once the War had begun – naturally kind but firm when it really counted. All together, he was a perfect match for Infernus. He needed someone like Daily to keep him grounded.

June eventually managed to shoo the spunky Asian away while the two boys willfully dispersed.

"Told you I'd be back." he said, slinging the weapon off his shoulders. He held the weapon up to the old medic: "Here. One AK-47 as requested."

Ratchet gingerly took the gun from him in two digits, inwardly marveling at its pristine appearance. "Thank you, Mr. Daily. I will see to modifying it to be more useful to you."

Daily nodded. Without a word he made his way over to the medical berth and set about vaulting himself up towards the top. He made it quite a ways before reaching an impasse, dangling about three quarters of the way up from a think bar of metal like a life-sized ornament. A few attempts to get any higher resulted in him nearly losing his grip and falling to the floor, and it looked like his upper body strength was starting to dwindle. Out of frustration he sighed and rolled his eyes, mumbling loudly:

"..Damn it."

Only his determination in getting so far kept those gathered from laughing at his dead-panning expression. As it was, more than a few badly muffled snickers could be heard.

Arcee went over and provided the much needed leg up. She had to hand it to him. He'd almost made it to the top without any help, and at a pretty decent pace, too. That took some serious strength and agility training. The guy might very well be able to handle himself in a firefight with Decepticons so long as he maintained distance from them and their weapons. If he did that then she had no doubts he could be of practical use in the field. Give him a sniper rifle and some ensuing training with it and he might be even more effective. One well placed round through the helm...

"Thanks. Arcee, right?"

She managed a thin but genuine smile at him, affirming that that was indeed her name. But she turned and left before the private had a chance to speak to her. Nodding to the medic, the sole femme transformed and drove out of the hangar, heading in the same direction Infernus had returned from with the fossil. Soon the sound of her engine died away in the distance. Bumblebee loosed a string of chirps and clicks and followed after her.

Daily looked out in the direction she'd gone, expression puzzled. She had acted as if he'd said something to hurt her. "Was it something I said?"

Ultra Magnus shook his helm, replying: "No. Arcee requested she be put on an Energon scouting mission. With Infernus currently indisposed and unable to retrieve the store he found earlier, she felt the need to retrieve it before it is seized by the enemy. Your return just so happened to coincide with her departure. And she may or may not feel the need to make up for her injuring him. I have the suspicion that Bumblebee might feel similarly about his not being able to better defend him against Starscream."

"Honestly I don't think there was much else he could have done at the time. Neither of them had suspected Starscream to come prepared and had thus expected a quick, clean skirmish." Prowl noted. "You cannot predict the unpredictable, sir. And Starscream is the very definition of unpredictability. I believe he counted on them not being aware of his preparedness. An enemy left in the dark is that much easier to kill – a fact he is well aware of I'm afraid."

"Unfortunately." agreed Magnus. "But I don't believe either of them will be making that mistake again. Such overconfidence in a situation like that is understandable. Everyone on both sides of this war knows Starscream has a habit of making costly mistakes. Trial by error is a hard way for Infernus to learn, especially in this particular instance, but it _is_ effective. Due to it, this mistake of his has a very low chance of happening again."

"Don't jinx it. You saw how close he was to the edge. We nearly lost him..." Wheeljack said.

The Commander's visage turned grim - though for once it wasn't out of annoyance towards the white Wrecker. He didn't believe in jinxes but he was well aware that the Primeling had been on death's doorstep for a short time, hovering in that grey zone between life and death. They were lucky he hadn't stopped fighting even after he had gone down, and even luckier that the heavy armor of his beast form had slightly reduced the damage inflicted. Without those upgrades he would've been in a much worse state, possibly even terminated before help had arrived.

"'Jackie, jinxes to the side burner for a sec – you may not know him as well almost everyone else here but he's a quick study. Like scary fast. You didn't see him take out Starscream _while he was in the Apex Armor._ He figured out in about five seconds that the only way to beat him was to get him out of it. And so he phase-kicked him out." Bulkhead defended. "I think that says something about him."

"Sometimes you gotta use your processor instead of your fists." Bluestreak chirped. "Smoke was always good at knowing when to play it smart. I think he got even better after he got assigned to Trion. I mean, that's what happens when you hang around a genius, right? Some of those smarts rub off on you. I'd call that an occupational hazard but that's more of a benefit. Smarter you are the less likely you are to screw up."

"True that." Miko said. "Let's just hope he doesn't turn into some mega nerd. That'd be weird. Also scary."

" _Miko!_ " Jack, June, and Rafael scolded in unison.

"What? Just saying."

* * *

 **Author's Note: *sits back in a comfy chair by the fireplace* *sips coco* Aaah. Free time. How I missed you. :3 It's been too long since I could huddle up in my robe in bed and just write till I pass out. Well, actually that last part's an exaggeration but you guys get the idea. I can finally write freely without worrying about anything else.**

 **Sorry this took so long to come my faithful viewers. I've been busy goofin' with Skyrim and writing other stories at the same time. Finally managed to fix my broken Dragonborn DLC so I'm not having buildings glitching into each other. :D Hugs to Christie from Bethesda.**

 **Also, I swear I could hear my stories calling me that final Friday after my History exam. " _Come to us, MiniKoontzy. Work on us, MiniKoontzy...Let the ideas out, MiniKoontzy...Wriiiittte..._ " Hehe. xP Anyways, yeah. 'Ere ya are! A chapter that's not under 4,000 words for once!**


	12. Chapter 12: What Family Is

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 12

* _Note to Kaleia: Ha-ha. Glad you're enjoying so much. :3_ _Yeeah. 0-0 Ratch is the one person you should not mess with. If you do you're either stupid, drunk, or a Decepticon. Or all three. But Infernus does understand that Ratchet fits the old adage "yelling because you care." He cares, he really does_ _–_ _he's just not the most, erm, gentle personality you'll ever meet._

 _Also, Ratchet didn't call the kids useless. He just said they're more of a battlefield liability than Daily is. They've shown they can handle themselves...but here's the thing: they aren't combat trained and they aren't armed in any way. They rely more on outsmarting the giant evil aliens over shooting them full of holes. I'm not saying they aren't helpful. They proved innumerable times that they are. My point is they're each useful in their own ways but they still do pose a liability when thrust onto the battlefield no matter how you spin it._

 _You tried gmail? That's what I use. Reliable and easy to use._

 _Also, I don't mean to sound rude when I ask this: Is English not your first language? The way your sentences are written makes me think that._

 _*Giddy: Infernus is a bit of a quick-study smart-alec isn't he? Remember that he literally stole an omega key from under Megatron's nose and had the audacity to taunt him in the process. xP Oh, and Ratchet's not gonna turn the thing into a fat man launcher, don't worry. Give the doc some credit, Giddy. x3_

 _Side Note: Say hello to the Gonzalez twins_ _–_ _Adrian and Katelyn, the youngest members of Area 51's auto-experts! They'll not be constants like Neal or Daily but they will be making appearances now and again._

* * *

Outside, the sun set on an overall stressful day and brought with it the crisp chill of evening. The slim crescent moon hung low in the skies, washing the sun-baked pavement with its pale light. A handful of Jeeps grumbled past the hangar on their way to their garages, and a single jet screamed in from afar as it returned from what it had been doing. Then the living silence of the desert surrounding the entire compound returned once more as, one by one, the lights of the hangars and buildings ignited, casting their warm amber glows into the darkness.

Inside Hangar E, her alien occupants heeded not the darkness outside. Her human ones on the other hand were (reluctantly) beginning to wind down for the night. Her youngest ones were sitting together on the catwalk's lounge sofa. Daily sat opposite them, conversing with the three teens in the same casual, friendly manner that had drawn Infernus to him in the first place. June kept an eye on them from nearby, observing both them and the aliens almost simultaneously.

"I still can't see your gun, huh?" Miko asked.

"Miko, honestly! You aren't even licensed to be holding one!" scolded the nurse. To which Daily merely smiled and rolled his eyes at them before going back to talking with Jack.

Jack smirked knowingly at Daily once he was sure Miko's attention was elsewhere. "You know, if she starts to drive you nutty we could always have Infernus just drop her on the Nemesis once he's better. Maybe Megatron'll get so fed up with her that he'll surrender to get her off his hands."

"Oi! I heard that, Darby!" Miko snapped angrily. "I am _not_ an airdrop!"

At that point the private laughed aloud.

Raf leaned over the back of the sofa to peek at the medic busily tinkering away at his worktable, the weapon itself lying in pieces close at hand. He was honestly a bit worried over letting Ratchet tinker with a gun. Every other time he'd tried to "help" upgrade some piece of terrestrial tech it had wound up backfiring in his face or getting them into heaps of trouble. And those items had been relatively harmless. But a gun? He just had to hope Ratchet could control his impulses long enough for the weapon to wind up as actually usable – instead of a harbinger of doom capable of firing a mini nuke or something.

The tween's light brown eyes strayed of their own accord over to the motionless form of the Primeling himself on the medical berth. His chestplates rose and fell slowly as air was cycled into his body, expression blankly peaceful. The dried Energon spilled during his fight with Starscream still remained on his frame, slowly cracking as time passed, revealing the pristine white underneath. His bio-metrics remained on display in case he took a sudden nosedive. But from how steady the readings looked, Rafael rather doubted that would happen. Sure there was the occasional blip in his neural-net activity that showed he might be dreaming, but other than that harmless little thing everything seemed normal.

Infernus had made it to the top of the mountain despite all odds. That was all that mattered. The hard, scary part was over. Everything else afterwards would be easy.

"Hey, Raf? You okay?" Daily wondered.

He turned, jumping slightly. "What? Yeah. I'm good. I'm just...glad he's okay."

Jack laid an arm on his shoulder, his blue-grey eyes resting on the slumbering mech nearby. Relief was plainly visible in them – relief shared by everyone within Hangar E. They had nearly lost him to the Void. But he had fought back. And he had won.

"We all are, Raf. We all are."

* * *

Arcee and Bumblebee arrived back around ten. Unable to simply fly over the mountains as the Primeling could, their trek had been longer thanks to being ground-bound like the rest of their team mates. The femme had to admit during the drive that having a team mate on equal footing with the 'Cons, able to fight them on their own turf, was going to be useful. Having a flier in charge of all Autobots (who were famously not fliers) was strange but it was interesting, too. Something different. Infernus was a wrench in the works not even Megatron could have expected.

They pulled into the hangar through the provided groundbridge with their haul. Though not exactly a jackpot by any means, it was enough to keep them going a while longer until another deposit was found or another 'Con mine was raided. Having next to nothing now, every little bit counted.

"How is he?" she wondered. The Primeling looked fine so far as she could tell but she wanted to make sure nothing had happened during her absence.

"Better." Ratchet replied curtly from the worktable. "He's actually recovering faster than I thought possible. Something is stimulating his repair systems into near overdrive states. That might be the Matrix or it might just be how young he is. Young mechs recover faster than older ones. Everyone knows that. Unfortunately with the amount of damage he took from those missiles he'll be down for the count for upwards of a week. Knowing him though, he'll try and sneak out before that."

* _You really think he's crazy enough to disobey you that openly_ _?_ * Bumblebee whistled in amusement.

"Puh-lease! He's done it before. He'll slagging well do it again if I so much as turn my back on him for a second."

It was all the scout could do not to laugh. Well he recalled Smokescreen's list of mischievous acts which ranged from unintentional and intentional theft to disobeying orders to harmless pranking of Jasper's local bully. He was a busy little imp for sure – but one who meant well in the end.

* _I think he'll listen to you this time around, Ratch. You scared him pretty good earlier._ *

Ratchet merely harrumphed in a ridiculing manner before returning to his work as the other members of Team Prime occupied themselves through the night. A wave of silence swept over the hangar around midnight when the humans on the lounge sofas and chair finally slipped under at long last. But even as the moon continued on her arc through the star-studded skies, the aliens continued to toil unaffected.

* * *

AREA 51, NEVADA  
HANGAR E  
0900 HOURS

Daily awoke to streams of sunlight and the smell of strong coffee brewing. He tried to rise and stretch his tight limbs only to find that if he did he would regret it. Rafael was curled up with his head resting on his left leg, covered by a light blanket someone during the night had provided. Who had done it couldn't say, but his money was on either June or Fowler – or the two of them working in collusion. The nurse herself was sitting on a recliner nearby, sipping a cup of coffee and observing the general goings-on. Fowler was nowhere to be seen. Jack and Miko were also absent.

Thus, rather than rise immediately, the private took in what was going around the hangar. Ultra Magnus was conversing with Prowl in hushed tones near the entrance, probably over supplies; Bulkhead and Wheeljack were nowhere to be found; Bluestreak was also missing, but the faint sound of a sports car engine outside gave away that he was still on site (and also hinted where Jack and Miko might be); Arcee was busy with a dangerous looking Cybertronian hand-held gun; Infernus was still out from the looks of things, though he looked better than he had the other day; Ratchet had abandoned his work table in favor of a computer, and Bumblebee lingered near the catwalks like a brightly colored sentinel, offering a wave and a trill to the private on noticing he was awake, and another trill to Raf.

"Where're Bulkhead and Wheeljack?" asked the private.

He realized only too late he'd asked the wrong mech. Bumblebee responded in a flurry of trills, beeps, whistles and clicks that Daily was at a loss to understand. Frankly, the most he could do was stare and look sadly bewildered. The scout seemed to realize his mistake. Silently he held up two digits, pointed outside, then added a third digit which he curved like claws, emitting a low buzz almost like an electronic growl. It didn't take a genius to decipher the charade-like message.

"They're out looking for more fossils, huh?"

The scout buzzed, giving him a thumbs up.

"Where are they?"

Bumblebee started whistling a tune which after a moment of thought he recognized as the Greek Fire's "On Top of the World." Huh. So they were in Greece again, were they? He wondered which monster they were after this time around. Maybe a dragon? Greece was famous for dragons and serpent-like creatures – though their versions were a bit different than the traditional old English beasts. Or, hell, maybe they were after a griffin? Or were they after a lesser known but no less dangerous creature perhaps? There were so many Greek monsters and mythical beings that after a certain point you tended to lose track of them all.

"Any idea what they're after there?"

The scout shrugged, giving a flat buzz that sounded like he was saying "Uhhhh..." so it came as no surprise when he looked over at Ratchet.

"Wheeljack is investigating the horse called Arion. He's a lesser known creature than some of his brethren, but his distinguishing trait – his agility – might suggest a speed-gifted Predacon – and those are rare let me tell you. As a side note, Arion doesn't seem to behave in the generally aggressive ways of his kin. He helped heroes on more than one occasion much like Pegasus did, though Arion always seemed to want some compensation afterwards in the form of precious metals. If indeed he existed, and on the small chance he still lives, he might make a useful ally. If not, that's one less speed-gifted equine Shockwave can clone."

"And Big Green?"

"Bulkhead is looking into the Nemean Lion to see if its remains can be salvaged from where it was slain. They both decided it was best to divide forces in order to search for more than one target at a time. If Infernus were aware when Magnus sent them on their ways he probably would've argued with him. Personally I'd agree. Splitting up at this time is not wise – smaller groups are more easily attacked as we saw with Infernus and Bumblebee. But those hard-helmed idiots never listen anyway."

As if in response to the medic's words, the Primeling stirred from his enforced slumber with a faint groan. He asked in a rather drunken-sounding voice what was up with all the racket. Daily stifled a short laugh. The mech looked and acted like he was suffering from a mild hangover or something. Poor guy. He needed a pick-me-up for sure.

"Hello to you too, sleepyhead." June greeted. "Feeling any better?"

Infernus gave himself a cursory once over before testing out his limbs, still obviously in the process of waking up as he did so. He admitted that didn't feel quite as sore as he had but the spots around the welds felt like they were super sensitive right now. Other than that he definitely didn't feel as bad as he had the other day after...after Starscream had shot him. He was good, really. To be brutally honest he was gonna be driving people crazy by the end of the day if the doc didn't let him out.

"Oh, come on. It's not _that_ bad." Daily teased. "If a human took as much damage as you did we'd either be dead or in the hospital for a year. Ratchet said you were only gonna be down for upwards of a week. So you're getting off pretty easy in the grand scheme of things. No need to whine about it, pal. If you want my opinion I don't think you'll be stuck on that slab the _whole_ time. Give it twenty-four hours and I think the doc'll let you out. Maybe even before that if you don't, y'know, drive him crazy."

The Primeling rolled his optics in slight aggravation but he did seem somewhat appeased now. Unless Daily was imagining it, he swore he also looked disappointed about not being able to drive the medic up the wall for some shameless giggles. Oh sure he could probably still do it, but it would only serve to lengthen his medical probation so to speak. Of course, knowing Infernus, that wouldn't exactly deter him from making the attempt...

All eyes and optics turned to the entrance on hearing the roar of an engine fast approach. In a squealing of tires and laughter the absent Bluestreak returned, Jack and Miko jumping out of the driver's and passenger's seats respectively. Both teens were laughing and somewhat breathless, eyes sparkling. Out of the two it was Miko was the most hyped up.

"Blue, you are flippin' _crazy_! That was awesome!" Miko shouted. "Woo-hoo! Gimme five, mech!"

Bluestreak looked down curiously at the spunky Asian's extended hand. He soon figured out what she wanted. Kneeling down, he put his own hand out just high enough for the girl to jump up and hit his open palm with hers. Satisfied, Miko whooped and darted off, the gunner grinning after her as Jack shook his head.

Infernus smirked at the sight but remained silent. It was good to see everyone in a good mood even if that good mood didn't quite extend to him just yet. He'd be in a better mood if he could get up and move around a little – maybe get the dried Energon off him in the bargain. The stuff was cracking off him like a second skin, serving to make him feel like a snake and also agitate the spots where the welds were. Not enough to cause pain but enough to annoy him.

' _I'm certain if you asked Ratchet nicely he would allow it. He understands you do not enjoy being immobile. It might also give him a better idea of how you are healing._ '

"...Hey, Ratchet?"

Ratchet didn't even turn to face him as he replied: "If you're asking to be released, no."

"Aw, come on. Pleeeaaasee?"

The medic turned to look at him. And wound up regretting that decision instantly. What he found waiting for him was the biggest pair of puppy dog optics he'd ever seen from Infernus and possibly from anyone. Two big round orbs of baby blue were fastened on him like glue. Frustratingly enough he found himself unable to turn away. For one of the few times in his life, he let his spark do the talking instead of his mind. Some of the strictness in his expressed faded against his will. He had to remind himself that this wasn't the archivist he had befriended but a young student still learning. Here, he wasn't quite a "friend" per say but an authority figure to him, almost a Guardian.

He pressed a long-enduring hand to his forehelm. He knew he might regret this, but in the end he gave in to the emotional blackmail with a sigh. Perhaps he was being too strict with the youth. A little time in the open air; well, maybe it would do him some good. If nothing else it would keep him from pestering him for a while so he could finish the final calibrations on Daily's assault rifle. And so, despite his better judgement telling him not to, he went over and gently helped the Primeling off the medical berth and to his pedes.

"Just...don't strain yourself. Mr. Daily? Could you keep an eye on him for me and make sure he doesn't do anything that might exacerbate his injuries?"

Daily rose readily. "You got it. I'll keep him in line. If he tries anything I'll drag him over to the auto shop and have Neal give him a talking to. That or I'll hook him up to one of the Jeeps, drag him back to you in chains, and let you do the scolding. Y'know, either or. Whichever you prefer."

"Hey! Whoa! Whose side are you on here, Mark?" Infernus demanded.

Ratchet smirked. He officially liked the private.

"Go on. Get out of here. Both of you. Scram."

* * *

Daily had seen Rafael and Miko ride on the shoulders of their alien partners, but had never even thought about trying it for himself. So he was startled when, right as they exited the hangar, he felt himself plucked off the ground and placed on Infernus's right shoulder. He would've told him that the free ride wasn't necessary, that he could keep up pretty easy, but the boyish smile the other offered kept him from saying so.

"I think I owe you one for sticking around. I mean, you didn't have to. But you did."

"I thought we already talked about this. You don't owe me anything. Friends help each other out. Or, well, partners in our case, I guess. There's no payment system at work here. But if you're bound and determined to think of it like that, as a contract, then I'll pay you back with a good scrub down. Seriously, you need one. That robot blood drying all over you looks like it has gotta be uncomfortable."

"Heh. You have no idea. So...that means the auto shop, right?"

"Yep. Neal's gonna want an explanation as to why I hung up on him yesterday afternoon anyway. And like I said, guy's great with machines. Also, pretty sure he's got a soft spot for you. In an uncle/nephew sort of way. He's like the big daddy of the auto shop. You come into his place, you instantly get taken under his wing. No exceptions. The auto shop's just one big crazy family – with Neal in charge. They don't always get along, (because _duh_ ) but they make up in the end because, well, that's just what family does. You hug it out and you forgive each other."

The private saw Infernus wince, fully aware he'd unintentionally hit a nerve that hadn't fully healed – and probably never would.

"Sorry. I never really met him or even talked to him for that matter, but I'm guessing Optimus was like that too, wasn't he?"

"Yeah." Infernus replied softly, optics cast downwards, A faint smile inexplicably ghosted across his lip-plates as an even fainter little laugh escaped his vocalizer.

"What? What's so funny?"

"He likes your description of him. He...also wants to thank you for...y'know, helping me. He appreciates it. I do, too."

Daily smiled back. "Don't mention it. Friends look out for each other. That's all there is to it."

* * *

Infernus arrived at the auto shop hangar with his new partner to find a different scene than the one he had seen last time, yet at the same time it was familiar to him. Outside the hangar sat a heavily armored Jeep, its normally dark olive green body splattered in dried mud from the windshield to the running boards. Beneath its mud-caked body was a creeper, and extending from that creeper was a pair of familiar dirty military slacks – slacks that were getting dirtier with every passing moment. But the owner – busy humming a bouncy country tune – didn't seem to mind the muck. In fact, he acted quite oblivious to it.

The Primeling knelt and placed Daily back on solid ground, observing as Daily made his approached. Clearing his throat loudly, the private spoke:

"Hey, Neal?"

From beneath the Jeep, the humming stopped. "Markie? That you, son? Where the hell have you been?"

Daily shared a quizzical glance with his partner. Silently they agreed to tell him the truth one chunk at a time. Coming out and just saying outright that the Primeling had very nearly lost his life the other day might be a bit much for the gruff but kindly head mechanic to take in.

"Ah. Long story. But I brought a friend with me. Just, uh, when you get out from under there – try not to freak out. Okay? It's not as bad as it looks."

"...Alright." Neal answered, mounting wariness in his voice. There was something, an undercurrent, in Mark's tone he didn't like. It hinted at something...unpleasant.

With a grunt, Neal rolled the creeper out from under the Jeep. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glaring sunlight, blinking back the blinding beams as he sat up. When at last they adjusted to the light, his eyes went round in horror at the sight kneeling behind Mark:

It was Infernus. He was covered in a flaking, pale blue substance he could only guess was the Cybertronian equivalent of blood. And the welds – God, they were literally everywhere. The poor kid legitimately looked as if he had been sewn back together. His blue optics, normally vibrant and full of life and energy, were dull from what looked to him like exhaustion – exhaustion he seemed to be fighting. In his opinion Infernus should've been back in bed resting, not out traipsing the grounds.

"Sweet Mother of Christ! What happened to you?!"

Infernus's gaze dropped in mild embarrassment. Hesitantly he explained the source of the blue blood and the welds. He explained the search for Predacon "bones" so to speak had led them to Lerna, in Greece, where the Hydra had lived. They'd found one of its severed heads buried beneath the nearby lake bed at the site. But Starscream had obviously been led to the same place. A fight had broken out over the skull, and Starscream had fired two shrapnel-filled missiles at him in an effort to kill him. They had won the fight in the end and grabbed the skull for safe keeping, but he'd...well, things hadn't looked good for a while.

Neal was observant enough to note the hesitation. There something he was holding back.

Infernus continued. He was fine now though, really. Honestly. Sure, yeah, he was still sore, but Ratchet – their medic – said he was recovering pretty fast. He should be back to full strength by the end of the week. And yes, he did have his permission to be out here. He hadn't snuck out.

"You sure you're okay, son?" asked Neal. "Other than needing a nice hot soaking, o' course. You just look a little... _harried_ if you know what I mean."

"I'm fine. Really."

Unless the two men were simply being over-observant, they swore that had come out a tad too fast. They shared sideways glances.

' _He's hiding something. Any idea what?_ ' Neal's sharp green eyes seemed to ask.

Daily shrugged imperceptibly. Whatever Infernus was hiding he doubted it was dangerous in any way. Being shot at point blank range by killer missiles, having the Grim Reaper knocking at his door for a while there...well, he was no psychologist but that might lead to a mild case of PTSD. No soldier was immune to it, not even million year old alien ones it seemed.

"Well, come inside and we'll get you cleaned up." Neal offered. "Now's your chance to meet some of the family."

* * *

The Primeling had barely managed two steps inside the massive hangar when:

"HOLY FREAKING MOTHER OF ALL THAT IS AWESOME!"

In spite of himself, Infernus jumped at the exclamation, taking a step back. That shout had come from a lean twenty-something-year-old Hispanic man with rich black hair and dark brown eyes. His blue optics looked down at the new human with a touch of wariness as if he expected him to jump up and bite his leg or something. This man reminded him all too much of an overexcited puppy – almost like Bluestreak had been given a dozen shots of espresso.

That shout had garnered the attention of many of the other mechanics. Men and women, young and old, pale-skinned and dark-skinned, all paused in their work to investigate the disturbance. Some smiled and waved at the towering arrival, others silently gawked. Two or three offered waves to Mark and their head mechanic, choosing to ignore for the moment the giant white alien standing in the entrance.

Neal simply laughed at the reactions. "Adrian, are you are your sister done with the detailing kit and the hose?"

"Uh-huh. You want 'em?"

"If you please. We need to get this E.T cleaned up. You wanna lend a hand?"

The man called Adrian grinned manically: "Totally! Let me go get Katie! Be right back!"

With that, he darted off deeper into the massive hangar. He returned less than a minute later with a large bucket of supplies and a Hispanic woman of similar age and appearance. Like him she had rich black hair and dark brown eyes though was more subdued in energy. It didn't take a genius to figure out they were brother and sister, possibly even fraternal twins. Out of the two, the woman seemed the more matured – in it that she didn't seem to be suffering a massive nerdgasm like Adrian had. But like her brother her eyes held that spark of childish energy in them.

"Alright. You kids head out back and get everything set up. I need to run and get something from my workstation. Be gentle with him, would you? He's hurt."

* * *

When Neal made his way back outside and to the south side of the auto shop, he was met with a sight that nearly made his heart melt. He'd seen many heart-melting moments with his nephews and nieces, but this – this was a sight that rivaled those because of the simple fact that there was a giant extraterrestrial robot involved. This was something that could only be seen in Area 51. He rummaged in his deep pockets for his cell phone and snapped a picture before he even consciously thought about it.

Lying on the ground in his dragon form (he'd have to talk to him about that; he honestly shouldn't be transforming with all those welds) while Adrian, Katelyn, and Daily ran around and on top of him was Infernus, the three humans laughing and shouting and drenched from head to foot. The two boys were busy trying to avoid a hose-armed Katelyn laughing like an evil villain from atop the Primeling's back. Infernus himself seemed to be egging on the water war by playing on the girl's side, slyly using one claw to trip Adrian as he ran to avoid the hose of doom. Daily heroically dove in front of Adrian to protect him and wound up getting sprayed in the face.

"You suckers'll never win! I got a dragon on my side! Muahaha!"

Infernus emitted a low sound from his chest that was obviously a chuckle. He used one slightly tattered wing to gently shove the woman, forcing her to lose her balance – and her grip on the hose. But she never fell off, for the other wing caught her and steadied her as another low rumble of a chuckle sounded from the pristine white dragon.

"Hey! Whose side are you on, dragon-bot?!"

The aging mechanic chose not to interrupt them. Instead, he leaned against the hangar's metal walls and watched them play, smiling broadly. Kids. You had to love 'em, no matter what species they were. Or how old. Here they were, a bunch of twenty-somethings playing like hyperactive ten-year-olds, a giant alien dragon playing with them like an older sibling.

It was little moments of innocence like this, so rare in a war, that convinced him the former Prime had made the right choice. Infernus, young as he was in Cybertronian terms, truly understood the concepts of love and family – the two things Optimus had reportedly held so dear. To be able to play and laugh in spite of his injuries just showed how committed he was to preserving those things. Perhaps that was because of his own youth, or perhaps it was some higher reason that only their Creator knew.

Whatever the real reason, the sight was something to be cherished. He didn't need to understand the aliens' spiritual beliefs to know that Optimus still lived within the heart of his successor. To Neal personally, he was in the breeze that cooled on a hot day, in the sunlight that streamed down on a clear morning, and in the soft moonbeams that turned the land silver and lulled a restless soul to sleep. He lived – within, and all around. You just had to shut your eyes and you'd feel him.

' _Spread love wherever you go, Prime. Let no one come to you without leaving happier._ '

* * *

 **Author's Note: :')**

 **As a side not, school starts next week, so expect the updates to slow back to the way they were. And this is genuinely the first time in my life (well, second technically *shout out to Clear View!*) that I'm actually looking forward to school. And that's mainly to get away from my mom _nagging_ me 24/7. Lady, I'm on break. For the love of Primus, leave me the frick alone so I can enjoy it. X(**

 **Anywhoodle, yeah. Here's another chapter. Longer than the last one. I think. o.o There wasn't action here and there won't be for another chapter as poor wittle Infernus recovers from, you know, _nearly dying._ But you get to see he's picked up a thing or two from Blue about emotional blackmail. Ratchet may act the tough guy but he's really a big sweetie on the inside. He's shown that in the past. x3**

 **And honestly, who wouldn't give in to Infernus's all-powerful puppy-dog face?**


	13. Chapter 13: A Story is Told

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 13

* _Note to Giddy: I'm making your wish come true this chapter...*evil laughter* I read your comment. You know what I mean. ;3_

 _*Note to Kaleia: Neal didn't know Optimus personally, but he's read a few reports on him ever since the news hit the base_ _–_ _enough to understand what he was like. I guess you could say he's trying to substitute for him in his own unique way. Where Magnus is the true authority figure for Infernus, since he's the one who's going to teach him the necessary leadership skills (or at least better hone them), Neal's more like the gruff but soft-hearted uncle with a lot of common sense._

* * *

Ultra Magnus had to privately admit to himself that he had his work cut out for him.

When the Primeling had requested (though in his opinion it was more along the lines of emotional extortion) to be released for a short while, he had had to resist the overwhelming urge to argue about his methods of getting that result. A leader was supposed to have a certain amount of maturity, and toying with the emotions of a team mate might lead to problems in the long run – especially if said team mate was Ratchet. While allowed to get away with it this time, he would ensure he went about it in a more mature way.

It wasn't that he wanted to see him fail. On the contrary, Ultra Magnus wanted Infernus to succeed in everything he did. Infernus definitely could. He just wanted that clever processor put to better uses than emotional blackmail. A talent for manipulating others in such an innocent way as his might be put to better use in persuasive endeavors. And his reputed quick processor? That could easily be melded into an expert tactician, perhaps one to rival Prowl. Being able to sum up an enemy with only a glance and formulate a battle plan – an effective one at that, and one that truly thought outside the box – was quite a feat for someone so young.

' _No wonder Alpha Trion and Optimus took an interest in him. He's young, a little immature and impulsive...but he does have promise._ '

* * *

Outside a nearby hangar, the three earthling mechanics were just finishing up their task of hosing down their target, the last of the stubborn blue stains removed. If any member of Team Prime had approached at that point, even Prowl, they might well be excused for laughing, because Infernus wasn't the only one utterly and completely soaked – Adrian, Katelyn, and, Daily were drenched from head to foot. But in the strong Nevada heat, none of the three minded.

As it was, they did have one observer. Neal finally removed himself from his spot against the walls and approached the four soaked, water war participants. Hanging from one hand was a bucket with a smooth, clean rag draped over the rim. Held within it was a tall dark bottle without a label of any kind.

"A'ight, you three. You've had your fun with the giant alien. Head to the barracks and get some dry clothes. I'll finish up here with the details."

All three humans nodded, smiling broadly, laughing and teasing as they walked off. Once he was sure they wouldn't double back for a round two, Neal approached the white beast-former and set the small bucket on the ground. Infernus watched curiously as the man took both the cloth rag and the dark bottle, popping the lid of the latter off with one well-practiced flick of his thumb. Then he tipped it over and let a strange, rather tangy-yet-sweet smelling liquid soak the cloth rag.

The man thus set about gently stroking the Primeling's welds with the strange-smelling rag. He couldn't help himself from grimacing at how bad some of them looked. Whoever or whatever had done this to him had all too clearly meant to do him in. And while he was no military medic, he knew enough about the various weapons employed in modern warfare to know the marks of a fragmentation weapon when he saw them. The differing impact angles and degrees of severity of the sealed wounds were a dead give away. It was also plain more than one weapon had been used against him. Some of the shrapnel looked to have pierced clear through his armor going by how some of the thicker welds appeared.

Mentally he shook his head as he worked, rage warring with sympathy in his heart. It was nothing short of a miracle the young alien hadn't been shredded apart. He was also lucky that whatever had damaged him so badly hadn't torn his wings apart. As it was, they still bore significant tears and rends that would be in need of mending by Infernus's medic. Whether or not he'd be able to fly with them he couldn't say, but he'd seen the first _How to Train Your Dragon_ film. A dragon without its wings was effectively defenseless, only able to rely on its talons and its fire.

Gobber's advice now rang ominously in his mind: " _A downed dragon...is a dead dragon_."

If Ratchet couldn't mend those tears...would Infernus ever be able to fly again? How could he defend them from their flying enemies if he himself ended up ground-bound?

* * *

Infernus found himself intrigued by the strange fluid Neal was massaging into his welds. The smell was peculiar enough – sharp and tangy, yet there was a distinct sweet undertone to it that was almost flowery or even fruity. It didn't smell artificial in any way, which left him puzzled. What was the most interesting was the effect the substance was having on his wounds – whatever the stuff was, it was serving to dampen the agitated neurodes around his wounds. Though it was by no means a genuine pain killer, it was powerful enough to get his attention.

And to get him thinking. Wasn't like he had anything else to do at the moment.

He hadn't thought any natural remedies from an alien planet would have any effect on a Cybertronian. Everyone and everything here was carbon-based, whereas Cybertronians were made of metals not found here at all. So why was this natural mixture helping to ease his pain? It didn't make any sense. Was there something else in it that he just couldn't pick up?

At last he gave in to his own curiosity. He hacked the hand-held radio on Neal's belt.

* _Hey, Neal?_ *

"Hmm?"

* _What is that stuff?_ *

The man smiled, winking mysteriously as he answered: "Sorry, son. Old family recipe. Much as I like you, I'm not about to go blabbin' secrets that have been passed down since before my great-great-great granddaddy was born."

Infernus let out a disappointed whining noise, shamelessly performing the same puppy-dog look as he had in the hangar. Neal merely chuckled at the child-like response. Cute as the expression was he said, he had a good number of nephews and nieces. He was immune to such puppy looks by this point in his life, adorable as they were. He could keep trying as much as he wanted, but it wouldn't work. Some things in life were just meant to remain a mystery.

"Tell you what though. How 'bout a story? Somethin' to pass the time. Can't have you getting bored and squirming, can I?"

Instantly the white dragon's attention was riveted on him. Two bright blue orbs of life waited eagerly for the story to begin. The head mechanic smiled, peridot eyes twinkling. He didn't resist the urge to laugh aloud. Good Lord, he was like a white metal version of Toothless at that moment. Oh, if he was ever allowed to introduce his youngest to the Primeling they'd be squealing from cuteness overload and delight. His whole personality was made to make you smile and laugh.

"Might wanna get comfy. It's a bit of a long story..."

* * *

"First, a bit of a disclaimer before I start." began Neal. "This story's been passed down by word of mouth from parent to child in my family for the Lord knows how long. Now, oral tradition is all well and good, but the longer it goes the more likely the story is to be embellished – sort of like a long-running game of telephone. Sometimes the tale can get so altered the original teller might not recognize it. So it's lucky for you my whole family line was never really inclined to do that. Oh, a few parts here and there may have been made more moving or poetic, but it's essentially remained the same since the very first time it was told."

And so, the mechanic began his story:

"This story begins in the distant past, before the first white man ever stepped foot on American soil, before America was even called the New World by the first explorers. My people, the Navajo, come from around the areas of Arizona and New Mexico – o' course, they weren't called that back then. Those states were just land that my people lived on. It supplied their needs. That was all that really mattered."

"So to really start this tale: Out in the desert in the far past lived my particular tribe group so my granddad said. One day, long ago, some of the women had gone out to gather cactus fruit, and one or two warriors went with them in case of trouble. You can never be too careful out in the desert. Nothing seemed to be wrong at first. The sun was rising, the skies were free of clouds, and there was a nice, strong breeze to keep them cool. All around nice day so I was assured."

Neal soaked the rag afresh before continuing:

"The women were just about halfway done with their harvest when the skies darkened. One of the warriors cried out, fully alerting their female wards. They looked up and cried out in alarm at what they saw: the skies had gone black with storm clouds that swirled like a budding tornado. Winds raged and whipped around them. Lightning and thunder cracked so loudly that both parties were forced to empty their hands of items and clamp them over their ears lest they become deaf."

Infernus looked at him in rapt attention. * _What was it? Some freak desert storm? Heard that those happen._ *

"Oh, no. It was far more terrifying than that. Just picture this in your head. Once the storm got up to full throttle, the sky itself seemed to split open like a wound. Two great birds adorned in shining but battered armor fell out of the rend, clawing at each other and screaming as they fell. Their eyes seemed to spit multicolored lightning. Each landed strike was like a cannon shot, each wing beat louder than thunder, each shriek like a clap of lightning. And they were massive – wing spans bigger even than yours."

His blue optics widened. * _Whoa-kay. This just got interesting._ *

Neal had no way of hearing the ancient voices in the youngling's mind readily agree.

* _What were they?_ *

"Story calls 'em Thunderbirds. They're big birds that're supposed to embody the destructive powers of storms. And traditional myths tell they've got tempers to match. Trust me when I say these two were no exception. The two Thunderbirds I'm tellin' you about seemed intent to fight to the death. What exactly they were warrin' over is just another mystery that'll never be solved. Could've been anything from an insult (myths all tell that they're proud beasts) to an incursion into the other's territory."

* _What happened next?_ *

"One of the Thunderbirds landed a colossal blow on the other one's wing, practically ripping it off. The thing's scream probably made the dead all the way over in Europe roll over in their graves. It was a horrible sound, as if a thousand banshees were shriekin' at the tops of their lungs. One of the warriors and two of the women later found themselves deaf because of it. They watched in awe-struck terror as the wounded Thunderbird fell towards the ground, landing many miles away near one of the sacred mountains, the one we call Tsoodzil. The other gave a victory scream and flew off back into the raging storm it had emerged from. Soon after, the storm dissipated as readily as it had come."

"Fearful that the fight was a bad omen, the people ran back to the village to warn their chief. They told him of the spectacular fight they had witnessed, and it seemed those in the village had seen it, too. That evening, he advised his people not to go looking for the downed Thunderbird, warning them that even while wounded it could easily snap the strongest warrior in half. He doubted even the clever trickster Coyote could survive a meeting with such a creature. Thunderbirds were not to be trifled with."

* _...I'm sensing a 'but' here somewhere._ *

Neal smiled. "Perceptive one, ain't you? Yes, someone chose to disregard the warning. A young woman by the name of Anaba – meaning 'she returns from war' in our language. She was in training under the village medicine woman. Got that name because no matter how badly the odds were against her, she somehow always came out on top. To be able to return from war, alive and unharmed, is no small feat. Many die in wars, and countless more are wounded. You know that all too well."

Infernus bowed his helm in silent acknowledgment. Remnants of his vision flashed in front of his optics. Yes. He knew war always brought unspeakable amounts of death and destruction. The Autobot/Decepticon conflict was solid proof of that. They'd nearly brought their entire species to the brink of extinction.

"Anaba packed a few supplies plus a spare pair of moccasins and left at midnight, slipping out of the village. It was a long walk to the place where the Thunderbird lay, and with no weapons to defend herself from predators and skin-walkers, she maintained a quick pace. Four days of near constant walking later, she found the spot. In all honesty it was hard to miss. A massive crater had been gouged into the base of the mountain, and the brush near it still smoldered and smoked even after four sunrises. She barely paid the small fires any mind, 'cause layin' in the crater, looking more dead than alive, was the titanic form of the wounded Thunderbird."

The Primeling's helm tilted to the side curiously. * _How bad was it hurt? What'd Anaba do?_ *

"The beast's right wing had pretty much fallen off at the joint. It lay limp and at a ghastly angle. Every inch of its armored body bore talon marks and open wounds, and what she could only describe later as liquid lightning oozed out of its injuries. Its breaths were low and shallow. Sparks danced between its tattered feathers, though they looked weak compared to the ones seen earlier. Being an apprentice to the medicine woman, Anaba was smart enough to realize the Thunderbird was dying, and being almost as clever as Coyote himself, she had in fact brought some medicinal supplies with her – salves, herbs; that sorta thing. Intent to either save it or simply ease the bird's pain, she slid down into the crater, accidentally burning her hand on a super-heated stone in the process."

"When she drew closer, the Thunderbird let out a low sound that made the bones in her body vibrate and the hairs on her neck stand on end. Its clawed head lifted a few inches, the beast's lightning-filled eyes watching her. But before it could scream at her it let out a high keen of pain and winced in a very human-like way before letting its head fall back into the dirt. When she drew even closer, to her surprise, it seemed to flinch away. It wasn't afraid of her – it seemed almost revolted. Like I said earlier, these birds are reputed to be proud, even arrogant. Probably was horrified about being helped by a mere human."

" 'Hold still. Let me help.' " said Anaba.

"The bird seemed to understand her and fell still. Emboldened, Anaba approached. She rummaged in her small hide pack and brought out an oil her teacher had taught her to make. Supposed to help ease pain. Actually, it's the same stuff I'm using on you right now. And it's helping, isn't it?"

Infernus nodded. He may not know what it was, but at least now he knew the formula was incredibly ancient.

"Anyway, to continue. She did the same thing I'm doin' – rubbed the oil into the wounds and soaked the useless wing in it. Stuff seemed to help, and the bird itself watched her curiously as she worked. The salves didn't seem to work, though the flow of liquid lightning had apparently slowed on its own. But the wing – what was a bird without flight? Powerful as the creature was, it was nearly defenseless on the ground. It couldn't even hunt. And if its rival came back the Thunderbird didn't even stand the remotest chance. So Anaba did the only thing she could."

* _Which was_?*

"She turned around, headed back to the village, and asked for their help."

Infernus looked at him, surprise in his baby blue optics as he asked: * _Did they agree? She did disobey a direct order from her leader. She didn't get in huge trouble, did she?_ *

"Well, it took some convincing but she finally persuaded them that helping the Thunderbird was only right. It was on their land, it was hurt. Nursing it back to health might earn them a powerful ally. And in point of fact, they managed to do just that. Thing's wing wasn't able to be saved, but the bird also didn't seem to want it amputated either. Couldn't speak, but it made that point pretty clear. Picky eater though – only ate lightning during the random flash thunderstorms, and to make it more efficient it taught this Navajo tribe to refine copper ore and built it three spires – lightning rods – on the mountain, which is where the big guy ended up staying."

* _What happened to it?_ *

"Eventually it became self-sufficient and lived on its own up there. Never bothered anyone, and no one bothered it. Stories say it either still lives up there, guarding the mountain...or its spirit haunts the peaks. Freak thunderstorms aren't exactly uncommon up there. But no one knows for sure. Contact with it was lost entirely after a few generations. More than a few have gone up there to investigate, never to come back."

Neal had managed to finish his story just as he finished his task. He squeezed excess oil from the cloth and slung it over his shoulder, then wiping his hands on the rag hanging from his hip. He glanced at Infernus to find him apparently deep in thought, his gaze locked on an invisible target off in the distance. He'd seen that sort of look before – the look of someone deep in thought, analyzing information with the meticulousness of a private eye. Then, after what felt like an hour of silence, his radio crackled to life.

* _Neal...you realize that Thunderbird might've been a Predacon, like me? The armor, the "liquid lightning" blood, its habit of consuming electricity. It probably had no means of telling the Navajo that it needed Energon and somehow found a way to refine raw electricity into a fuel source. And without its wing, stealing some from another Predacon would've been suicide for it._ *

At that, the mechanic grinned and said: "Let's just say I've had my suspicions it weren't a normal Thunderbird ever since I met your kind. Stories from the different tribes all over the southwest never describe one wearing armor, so that was a hint that somethin' wasn't right about it and its rival."

* _That's another question: any idea what happened to the other one?_ *

Neal rubbed his chin as he considered for a moment. In the end he shrugged, admitting he didn't know. Like the story had described, it had flown back up into the storm clouds and had seemingly vanished from the face of the Earth. No tribe had ever reported seeing the second armored Thunderbird again. Probably for the best – unlike the mountain guardian, the other one had seemed brutal and downright vicious.

He gently patted the white beast-former's neck. "Well, you should probably get on back. If the welds start hurtin' again, you're free to come back an' get another dose of the oil."

Infernus rose, stretching like an overgrown feline and flapping his tattered wings once to get some of the clinging water drops off. With a nod of thanks to the mechanic, he slowly walked off towards Hangar E. He may not have been able to secure the formula for the strange oil, but at least he had found the location of another Predacon – one that might very well still be alive. If the Thunderbird in Neal's story still functioned, they might be able to secure an alliance with it. Outnumbered as the Autobots were here, and with Megatron planning to clone an army of Predacons, they needed all the help they could get.

* * *

Ratchet was just about to have Bluestreak or Bumblebee go out in search of Infernus and Daily when his comm. link pinged, the sound followed by the distinct heavy pedefalls of a beast. He turned from his computer where he was performing some minor calibrations and was relieved and pleased to see the gleaming white form of the youth's dragon form. All the dried Energon had been removed by water, as was evident from the massive clear droplets that dripped off him. His baby blue eyes gleamed with renewed energy. Seemed the private had pulled a favor with the base's automotive shop.

However, the medic did note the unsightly tears that now marred his baby blue wings. Being in bipedal mode when brought to the hangar, he hadn't been aware of the damage to his beast form. In hindsight he should've expected such collateral damage. He would try mending them, but to say that a Predacon's wing and wing membrane were far different from a modern day Seeker's would be a massive understatement. The two bore almost no similarities.

In spite of that, he did look far better than he had earlier, and the welds didn't seem to be bothering him as much. There was an energy in his powerful field that hadn't been there before.

He eyed him curiously when the Primeling didn't move from his spot in the middle of the hangar. He looked to be...considering something. What was going on in that helm of his? Knowing his playful, mischievous nature – probably nothing good. Nothing harmful, but definitely something impish.

As it was, he got his answer before even five seconds had gone by.

Infernus's wings spread out about a quarter of the way. A spurt of mischief flashed in his blue optics, and what looked very much like a reptilian smirk formed on his long, draconic snout. Ratchet thus put two and two together right when the Primeling's whole body shook in the same manner of a wet canine, sending droplets of soap-laden water every which way. He, Magnus, and Prowl let out shouts of protest when they found themselves dripping wet against their wills.

"You just couldn't resist, could you?" Prowl deadpanned flatly.

Bluestreak, Bumblebee, and the humans on the catwalk erupted in laughter.

"I can't believe you didn't see that coming!" Jack smiled. "That was kind of a no-brainer!"

A message popped up on Ratchet's console: _LOL! X3_

Then the Primeling – very carefully everyone noted – switched out of his beast form. The massive smile on his lip-plates was practically contagious, as was his hysterical, care-free laughter. Not even the plainly annoyed trio of older mechs whom he had targeted were immune to it. Ratchet and Ultra Magnus managed very small smiles while Prowl contented himself to shake his helm and mumble something too low for anyone to hear.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for an excuse to do that!"

Miko cracked up: "Dude, you entertain waaay to easy."

"Did you come here just to do that?"

Infernus's smile faded somewhat as he replied:

"Ah, sorta. I actually got a lead on another Predacon through the head mechanic here – Neal Rowland. An unnamed Thunderbird his particular Navajo tribe encountered way, way long time ago. Supposed to live on one of their sacred mountains – Tsoodzil." He rubbed his neck awkwardly. "No idea which mountain that is, though. May have to look it up. I'm not an exactly an expert on this sorta thing. Geography was never really my thing, even on Cybertron."

"Can't you just ask the little voices in your head?" Miko wondered. "Maybe the big guys knows?"

"No need! Already done!" Rafael chirped, laptop out and screen lit. "Tsoodzil is the name the Navajo gave to the modern Mount Taylor. Its north of Laguna, New Mexico."

The smile returned. "Thanks, Raf."

He made to turn and leave. Ratchet stopped him in his tracks before he could even take five steps. One hand grabbed his arm and spun him around. He addressed him firmly but with a certain undercurrent of gentleness in his tone.

"Ep, ep! You are not going anywhere in your current state, Prime! You need to heal first. You can easily assign someone else to investigate this Thunderbird. You don't have to do everything yourself, you know."

Rather reluctantly, Infernus sighed and gave in. The grouchy old medic had a point. He was in no shape to go out climbing mountains or quite possibly battling a wounded Thunderbird. Even without a wing the thing might be able to put up a decent fight. That didn't mean he had to like said point, though. He hated being confined to the hangar, loathed being forced to take it easy. Out of anyone here he stood the most chance in a fight against a Predacon – no matter how badly he himself was hurt.

Ratchet, sensing he'd won this round, thus released his grip on the youth's arm.

The Primeling's optics darted between the Autobot who remained. Going by Neal's story, he needed to send someone who was strong in order to counter the Predacon's own brute strength. With Bulkhead and Wheeljack in Greece, that left only Ultra Magnus. But he also needed someone quick and small to take advantage of its larger size and slower movement, so the only logical choices there were either Bluestreak or Arcee. Slag, maybe sending both of them would work as well. They would have the advantage of numbers that way.

' _That sounds reasonable._ ' Optimus observed. ' _Now ask them._ '

Infernus was forced to steel himself. This was only his second direct command since becoming a Prime. He still wasn't quite used to it yet.

' _You did fine last time. Simply do what you did then_ _–_ _ask. Remember, you are not making demands of them. You are requesting._ '

"Ultra Magnus? Arcee? Blue?"

All three turned to him, optics curious.

"Could you three check out Mount Taylor? See if that Thunderbird's still there or, if not, secure whatever's left of it? Oh! also – Neal mentioned another one. If you can, see if you can dig up anything about the second Thunderbird. Something in Neal's story about the way it vanished was really weird. I've got a suspicion, but I need some evidence."

Three voices assured him they would do so.

"Thanks. And...be careful. Keep me posted on what's going on, 'kay?"

"We will." Ultra Magnus assured. "No unnecessary risks will be taken if they can be avoided."

Infernus nodded, convinced but still wary. From the way Neal described the vicious aerial fight between the two winged titans and the ugly damage inflicted on the loser, he shuddered to think what might be the result if those talons were directed at an Autobot. If one colossal slash from the victor had pretty much severed the other's wing right off, who knew what would happen against Blue's doorwings or even his body? This Thunderbird of Mount Taylor could probably easily slice the gunner in half with ease, and if Blue – Pit, if _any_ of them got hurt or killed because he wasn't there to defend them, he'd never forgive himself.

The groundbridge swirled to life with a wireless flick of the lever by Raf, permitting the three Autobot warriors into its turquoise depths. But he stayed where he was despite his better judgement screaming at him to ignore Ratchet's advice and follow them. Some of his protectiveness faded when a little tendril of familiar comfort touched his spark before wrapping around it gently. The Primeling managed a soft smile.

' _Can you protect them?_ '

' _I will do what I can for them, little ember. I can promise no more than that._ '

While not quite satisfied, he was forced to concede. It wasn't to his liking, but he had remind himself that Primus only had so much power and so much reach right now.

He stood there for a moment, indecisive as to what to do during the wait. Sitting around was _never_ gonna happen, and indirectly that was due in part to his strange encounter while on death's doorstep. He wanted to keep it to himself to make sure the others wouldn't worry about him...but that wasn't the honest thing to do. Would Optimus lie to them? Not on his life. Well, maybe if it was absolutely imperative in order to keep them safe. That line of thinking didn't apply here though. He wasn't putting them in danger by concealing this information, nor would he endanger them by telling.

Besides, once he told someone maybe he'd stop freaking out about it – and the Thirteen by default didn't count. They knew already. For all he knew they'd been the ones to help pull him back. And that mist guy...his voice had been so whisper-y and altered that he still had no idea who that had been. None of the voices currently locked in his helm matched. Some nagging instinct told him one of them was the guilty party, though which one was beyond him. None of them were being exactly forthcoming.

He made his way over to the medic now busy at his worktable reassembling Mark's modified AK-47.

"Uh, hey...Ratchet?"

The old medic abandoned his task in an instant. He turned to face him, curiosity swimming in tandem with worry in his optics.

"Can I...talk to you outside for a klik?"

* * *

 **Author's Note: Hehe. I am very much enjoying not being swamped in work quite yet. :3 I've managed to get two chapters out in the first two weeks. Lovin' this.**

 **I actually had to do some research for this chapter into Navajo mythology. I wanted to make sure Neal's story didn't sound entirely made up, and with his Navajo heritage I felt it would be very easy to incorporate two "Thunderbirds" and turn them into Predacons. After all, no one's quite sure where the myth stemmed from other than the flash thunderstorms that occur in the desert southwest. And I'm a firm believer that all myths have to stem from something tangible.**


	14. Chapter 14: Hunting a Legend

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 12

* _Note to Kaleia: Oh my gosh. You need to go see the two How to Train Your Dragon films. They're freaking amazing! Also, the TV series isn't half bad_ _–_ _my favorite new dragon introduced there has to be Windshear, Heather's Razorwhip. The little Night Terrors that guard Dragon's Edge aren't that bad either. They're so very cute :3 The movies and the show have their fair share of great moments. But fair warning: prepare for a feels trip in the second movie._ _And, erm...*coughs awkwardly* Yeah. I'm, well, an atheist. o_o So your little fic idea is gonna remain on that piece of paper. Sorry, gal. I'm just not a religious person. .-. I mean, I respect your opinion and views, don't get me wrong here, but...probably won't ever happen._

 _*Note to Giddy: Lol. Actually I based the oil off a special one I use to help me sleep. Not sure why, but you massage some on the back of your neck and it's like knockout gas for me. I always make sure to use it the night before a test. :) Keeps me calm, as I have a very bad case of anxiety. Literally I was having a panic attack just the other night because my movie editor was being an ass and then Blackboard decided at the last second to be super slow. Thankfully I got it in on time and found out what the issue was, but the stress and panic while that was going on was no joke._

* * *

Ratchet's groundbridge had dropped the three Thunderbird hunters off about two miles outside Laguna, a small little town in the desert made of hardened clay buildings called pueblos. No one noticed them arrive and no one noticed them head off, as the road leading out of town was empty aside from the occasional dust devil that swept across. They learned thanks to a road sign the reason: Laguna was a very small town of only about twelve hundred people.

Bluestreak for one was psyched about finally getting off base. A chance to really test his new mode out – at last! On mountainous terrain, too! Well, not right now, but really soon! He'd wanted to see more of this planet ever since arriving. It was pretty – not as pretty as Cybertron, but still pretty in its own way. True, there was a huge danger involved in the form of a possibly still living Predacon, but going by Smoke's tone about it maybe it would think twice about blindly attacking if they went in smart about the whole thing. If they didn't go in guns blazing, maybe it would be willing to talk to them.

And that was yet another thing to be excited about: meeting a real live Predacon! Would it be able to talk to them, or did it not know modern dialects? It had been here for a long time. Maybe it spoke Navajo? If it did, would they have to call in Neal Rowland to help translate? That was risky. But if so, would they get to learn a new language? Oh, there were so many cool possibilities he could hardly keep from speeding ahead of Arcee and Ultra Magnus. This was just so freakishly cool! They would be the first ever Autobots to meet a real living Predacon – well, technically a clone, but that was pretty much the same thing in his mind. Clone just meant genetic copy, right?

"Bluestreak, stay in formation." Magnus ordered. "Predacons have sharp vision, far better than ours. If we move too quickly towards the peak we might make it think we're coming to attack."

The young gunner slowed, falling beside the heavy blue and turquoise Kenworth growling along the open highway. Arcee rolled up beside the two.

"You think we're being watched, sir? Even at this distance?"

"One can't be too careful. Ratchet shared the scans he made of Infernus with me while he was unconscious. It was the first chance he'd had to fully analyze what changes his body had forced to undergo. Ignoring the increased durability, agility, fire-breathing and hearing for the moment, his scans showed his optics had been completely reforged. They're now three hundred times more sensitive than before – their zooming capabilities are far more powerful. Ratchet estimated he could spot a bullet cartridge from ten miles in the sky."

The pale blue Miata at his side let out an impressed whistle. "Wow! That's crazy!"

"And you're of the opinion this Thunderbird might have even better vision?" Arcee guessed.

"I'm nowhere close to the expert researcher Optimus was, but from I recall from scientific reports before the War, many Avioid Predacons had even greater vision than that. The zooming capabilities in their optics were nothing like ours, and the sensitivity of the light receptors was so great that some went blind due to degradation of the optic fibers. Ratchet assured me that would not happen with Infernus."

"So this Thunderbird might be...blind?" Bluestreak asked.

"If it is, it would only be relying on its olfactory sensors and audials. If it hears our engines going at full throttle towards its home, it has every reason to believe we might be invaders or attackers. It hasn't heard a Cybertronian engine in very long time, if at all. It might not even recognize us and will simply attack out of suspicion – an instinctive reaction instead of a pre-meditated one. We keep our pace slow and there's a lesser chance of those options happening. We will be considered a curiosity, not a threat. We will avoid confrontation if at all possible."

Bluestreak and Arcee fell silent as they rolled along beside the heavy Kenworth. They both remembered the harrowing chase by Megatron's newest pet. Magnus's ship had found Bulkhead and Wheeljack – plus Miko – in the mountains and valleys of Colorado. They would not know until arrival that they had acquired a very dangerous pursuer in the form of a Draconian Predacon like Infernus. A chase through the valleys had resulted in the Predacon being left behind, but it had appeared again at Darkmount. Only Ratchet bridging it to the Arctic had removed it from the battlefield. And now they knew thanks to the Primeling's vision that it wasn't gone for good. It was probably back home with its master: Shockwave.

Avoiding a confrontation with a Thunderbird, wounded or no, was a wise policy.

Arcee's mind quickly grasped onto something it designated as unusual: "Wait...your wording. You really think it's still alive, sir?"

"Infernus's intelligence renders it is a distinct possibility. Not only have some individuals gone missing here, but Cybertronians can survive without limbs. And if it found a way to feed off lightning instead of Energon, it could survive for a long time, especially if it has a way to store the electricity or lessen its energy expenditure."

"Like going into stasis after a storm?" Bluestreak suggested. "Raf said some Earth creatures do something like that. Hibernation. Store up a lot of energy and then...just not use it. Well, I mean they _do_ use it but not all at once. Maybe this Thunderbird does that – gathers what it can from the storm and then shuts down till the next one. 'Cause desert storms aren't super common. They happen a little more often around mountains, but they're not exactly everyday things."

"Possibly."

Another bout of silence ensued. The trio of vehicles pulled off the main highway and rumbled into the desert. Ahead loomed the snow-tipped peak of Mount Taylor. As they drew towards the base, transforming on arrival, each was under the sudden impression of being closely watched. But no matter how hard their optics scanned its heights they could see nothing amiss. There was no mistaking that feeling though. Right now and from here onwards they were being monitored by a beast – a beast capable of rending them all in two.

Thus, warily, they began the ascent.

* * *

Infernus was bored. Thoroughly and utterly bored out of his processor. After his talk with Ratchet, he had nothing to do aside from wait for updates from Magnus's mission, and Wheeljack and Bulkhead were still out in the field and radioing in through Ratchet. Technically his rank allowed him the right to intercept the transmissions, but he felt that wasn't the right thing to do. Ratchet was in charge of the Wreckers, and he was in charge of Magnus. Oh, and the kids had left, too.

It was unfortunate but expected that having nothing to do allowed his mind ample opportunity to worry about both teams. Wheeljack and Bulkhead were on solo missions in Greece, making them easy pickings if Megatron's fire-spewing pet was sicked on one of them. They'd apparently handled their first encounter with it fine together, but separated? He didn't like it. In the end, Magnus had arrived in the nick of time and pulled them out. That wouldn't be an option here. The Iron Will was sitting outside, and the pilot was a state away busy with his own mission – not to mention the Wreckers were on another continent altogether.

He knew they were capable but...he just wasn't satisfied. There were too many "What If's" with bad outcomes.

' _What about Wheeljack's ship?_ ' Solus wondered.

In another hangar. Fowler had sent a recovery team to go get it, but it was a mangled wreck. He had no idea whether or not it could be salvaged. Starscream and his Armada had done a real number on it. Wheeljack had been lucky to get out of that in once piece, even if he had been taken prisoner.

' _Hm. I see. Carry on then._ '

Magnus, Blue, and Arcee he was the most worried about. Arion and the Nemean Lion were ancient Predacons, most likely dead by now – one had already been killed, actually. But the two Thunderbirds of Neal's story could very well still be alive. One was hiding atop Mount Taylor from the sounds of it, eking out an existence there. The other one though – _that_ was the one that gave him real reason to worry. No one knew where it was and it was _very_ violent. What if their arrival and discovery of the Mount Taylor one somehow led the other one there? Maybe the victor bird had wanted to make sure the job was done – maybe it had started having doubts or had flown back and suspiciously hadn't found a body?

' _Smokescreen, calm_ _down_.' Alpha Trion soothed. _'So far as Mr. Rowland told you, there have been no sightings of the second avian anywhere in New Mexico or bordering states. Shockwave created these clones, so what makes you think he did not have a way to monitor them somehow? He is governed by logic. A Predacon attacking another of its kind without cause_ _–_ _deviating from its mission_ _–_ _may have resulted in the aggressor being transported back to Cybertronian via a spacebridge to be, ah, put down? That 'tear in the sky' could very well have been a_ _spacebridge_.'

His worry paused, temporarily drowned out by his curiosity. So he thought so too, huh? But the story had described both birds falling out of it, not just one. Maybe they were failed clones he couldn't keep on Cybertron for one reason or another. Too powerful or too violent.

' _Hmm. A valid point. He could have easily transported them here and left them to their fates. That is not beyond belief. Shockwave's logic is cold. If something is too much trouble he...removes the undesirable variables from the equation. Shockwave deals in absolutes, not partial values. That is as gently as I can word that._ '

Liege mused with a little too much dark amusement for Infernus's liking:

' _Or perhaps it was designed to deal with deviants in the first place_ _and was told to remove the other Predacon for reasons yet unknown to us?_ _Helping someone it shouldn't have? Stealing Energon from another source? Disobeying direct orders? Who can say? It did something wrong and Shockwave decided to deal with the problem the only permanent way you can._ '

So Liege thought the other one was like an Institute Courser from _Fallout 4_ , did he? Those things were designed to bring back wayward synths or simply destroy them if that failed. Interesting theory. No proof for it though.

 _'You just gotta the suck the fun outta everything, don't you?_ '

Infernus snorted softly. He wasn't sucking the fun out of everything. He was just being cautious. Fantasizing – theorizing really – was all well and good, but fantasies weren't about to solve the mystery of the Thunderbirds. Nor would they save Arcee, Magnus, and Blue if one or both of the beasts attacked them.

* * *

Lacking proper roads, the three Autobots were forced to walk. It was rather fortunate that at this time of the year there were few humans hiking the trails. But few did not necessarily mean none. A quick look on the human's internet via someone's nearby mobile wi-fi hotspot revealed it as a well-frequented location year round. The only times no humans were on the mountain were during severe thunderstorms that occurred in the summer months. Normally that wouldn't be cause for alarm, but that just so happened to be the time of year _they_ were there. Per Ultra Magnus's orders they kept well away from the beaten paths, though he allowed Bluestreak to roam within a mile or so of the group.

And the storms? The storms were yet another threat. Through the same wi-fi hotspot it was discovered the storms around the mountain were not something to be trifled with. They were powerful, and more than a few people had been caught in them in the past – and had subsequently disappeared. A few had emerged from the storms, had survived them somehow, yet they had no memory of how they had or what had happened. Some assumed predatory wildlife had consumed any corpses, but even then there would be bones left behind. They were quite simply...gone, and those amnesiac survivors were of no help.

That the missing had vanished during these powerful storms, some of whom had survived at the cost of their memory, and that no body had ever been found...that was suspicious in Ultra Magnus's opinion. No one could vanish that completely, and knowing what they knew he suspected the Thunderbird might be a culprit. But if it was, what had it done with the missing? Clearly it had released the amnesiac storm survivors, but what of the ones who hadn't returned?

The stoic mech shook his helm slightly as he kept trekking ever onwards and upwards. Questions without ready answers were exactly why he would never make a good archivist. Those kinds of questions drove him crazy; he simply hadn't the creative imagination to solve them. This was the sort of intricate puzzle Optimus would have loved to solve. Hm. For all he knew he was helping Infernus work his way to a solution right now. Whether or not a solution would come before the encounter he couldn't say.

Bluestreak's chipper voice broke his thoughts abruptly: [Magnus? 'Cee? I found something. Well, ran into something cloaked. You're gonna wanna see this.]

He nodded and affirmed he would rendezvous shortly before striding off. Arcee, a few dozen paces away, sprinted ahead of him. She quickly left the larger mech behind.

* * *

Infernus had to resist the urge to grin maniacally when Ultra Magnus finally reported in. Finally something to distract him from the boredom! But as he listened, a frown of confusion began to form. If heard without first hearing Neal's story, one might very well be excused for thinking Magnus had lost his senses. Out of context, the report sounded bizarre.

"A pylon? Hidden by a cloaking device?" he repeated slowly in some bewilderment.

[That is what I said. Bluestreak was fortunate enough to run right into it when wandering around the mountainside. It's located about halfway up the slopes. Have you any explanation for this?]

"Uh. Well, Neal mentioned that the Pred-Thunderbird taught the Navajo tribe who rescued it how to refine copper. He said it then had them build three metal spires on the mountain to collect lightning bolts, kinda like giant lightning rods. Apparently it used the electricity as a fuel source. Didn't mention the pillars being cloaked though. That sounds new. Probably its way of counteracting the large number of humans on the peak now."

[Wait, Predacons know how to make cloakers?] Bluestreak chirped. [I never knew that! Why didn't you mention that earlier? That's like major stuff right there!]

[That doesn't make any sense though. While fossil evidence suggested that some Predacons were gifted with stealth mechanisms, no evidence was ever found that indicated they were intelligent enough to craft a cloaking device themselves. It's not exactly basic calculus. And Earth does not have access to such technology. How did it acquire these cloaking devices then?]

A few rather dark possibilities flashed through Infernus's processor. First and foremost was the idea that the Thunderbird had ripped them out of some of its kin in order to re-purpose them. That seemed a bit excessive though. Groundless, too. The mountain Thunderbird of Neal's tale hadn't seemed aggressive enough to perform such a cold-oiled plot to hide the pylons. It had seemed more open-minded, displaying a grudging cooperation with the Navajo – though still proud as a peacock at the end of the day.

"I don't know. Crazy as it sounds, it might have made them itself. I don't think we give Predacons enough credit in the brains department. If we can build cloaking devices...then why can't they? With a broken wing, the thing's had a lot of time on its hands. Er, claws. Wait... _does_ it have hands? Like, can it transform? I mean, I can. Onyx can. Can other Preds do it too or are we some sort of exception?"

He heard Arcee laugh softly, making him smile.

[What is it with you and the random yet very pointed questions?]

"Eh, it's what I do. Keep looking. If those pylons are still there and now cloaked, I think that's solid proof the Thunderbird of Mount Taylor is alive. Whatever you guys do, _don't tick it off_ , okay? It may be missing a wing but I'm pretty sure it could tear any one of you in half with its talons. If it does try to attack you, it's probably just trying to scare you off, not hurt you. So don't hit back. Well, try not to. If it gives you no other choice..."

[Understood, Prime. Ultra Magnus out.]

Unless he was hearing things, the Primeling swore he heard a rumble of thunder come from the other end, and a crack of lightning came just as the link was severed.

His worry returned full force.

* * *

"On top of everything else, on top of all the danger we're walking into...it just _had_ to start raining, didn't it?" Arcee deadpanned.

"Well, actually we should've kinda expected this. That site did warn that flash thunderstorms occur here during the summer afternoons, so it's not really like this came out of the blue or anything, 'Cee. We just got our timing off. If we'd done any reading up before this we could've maybe have timed this a little better. Not all bad though – free wash! And the kind that doesn't eat through your armor like back home! This is so awesome!"

Honestly it was hard to stay irked when one looked at Bluestreak's carefree frolicking and running through the rain, oblivious to the gusts of wind and lightning strikes overhelm. It was like watching a happy-go-lucky child romp around in street puddles – you just couldn't help smiling. He ran around, jumped, laughed. Not even a flash storm could dampen Bluestreak's energetic spirit.

"The storm explains why I haven't detected a single native on the mountain. They know about these storms and stayed away." Ultra Magnus observed, blue optics warily watching the skies. "I don't like how strong these lightning strikes look..."

Well he recalled the warning on the website: not to stay on the mountain during one of these storms, as they could become severe in a matter of minutes. The rain wasn't harmful to a Cybertronian, not like the acid rain of their homeworld as the drops merely slid off them. But the powerful lightning strikes might prove a hazard if one struck one of the three metal titans. A powerful enough surge of electricity could fry certain systems.

Even as he finished the sentence, a blinding bolt of lightning arced down from the darkened skies, connecting with an invisible target a bit further down the slopes. The cloaked pylon Bluestreak had accidentally run into was thus revealed – a tall, gleaming pole of bronze colored metal engraved with symbols both Cybertronian and Navajo. Most notable of these native symbols was a blocky, winged creature located at the very top, talons curled around a pair of lightning bolts: a Thunderbird.

"We best hurry. The storm seems to be gaining intensity."

Bluestreak was called back into the group, and they continued on. After another twenty minutes of trekking through suddenly slippery walkways, they reached the peak.

And found nothing.

"Wha? Where is it?! We didn't come all this way for the view!" Bluestreak wailed over the thirty mile per hour gusts.

Ultra Magnus frowned. Something didn't add up. The pylons were still working, they'd been modified at some point...so where in the name of the Allspark was the one who relied on them?

* * *

"You're at the peak and you found _nothing_?"

[Nothing. Any suggestions? We obviously missed something.]

[And make it quick, please. We're exposed up here, and this storm isn't looking like it'll let up any time soon.] Arcee added a bit tersely.

Infernus stifled a groan. Where the Pit was Raf when you need the kid most?

"Ratchet, you have Raf's contact details, right?" he asked. "Can you get him on the line for me? I need him. Like, pronto. Arcee, Magnus, and Blue are on top of Mount Taylor stuck in a severe thunderstorm and there's no trace of the Thunderbird. Seems like it's hiding somewhere else."

The medic glanced at him out of the corner of his optic, nodded, and set to work ringing up the youth's cellular device. Satisfied, he quickly ordered the three absent warriors to get off the peak and down into the tree line in the meantime. It wouldn't offer much in the way of rain shelter, but it would at least protect them from the wind and lightning until he could get some answers for them. They seemed more than happy to listen to the order.

Order...Whoa. He'd just given an order. A real one, not just a polite request. And they'd actually listened to him. He'd expected that to feel weird or something, but it had just slipped out naturally.

' _An order of this type never will feel odd. You are ordering them to stay safe, to not test their luck._ ' said Vector.

' _That's common sense is what that is, kid._ ' Amalgamous added. ' _Anyone with their helm screwed on right would never stay out in an acid storm back home, eh?_ _Same logic applies here. The rain may not hurt here. A lightning strike sure might though._ '

"Infernus?"

The Primeling turned his attention to the console, a wry but genuine smile forming on hearing the voice he so wanted to have helping him right now. Because if you didn't know the answer to something it was always best to ask an expert. Or, well, a technology whiz anyway. The youngest of their three charges was a jack of all subjects thanks that laptop of his and his hacking skills. He could find out pretty much anything.

"Raf! Hi. I need a question answered, and I'm short on time here. I have a team investigating the Thunderbird of Mount Taylor, but they've come up with zilch at the peak. Is there, like, a cave system or something it could be hiding in?"

"One sec!" The faint sounds of rapid typing could just barely be made out. "Here's something: Mount Taylor's a dormant stratovolcano. I'm betting it's hiding out either in the empty caldera or maybe a network of lava tubes. Not finding anything mentioning the tubes, but there's a chance there might be some. I'm not seeing any mention of a way to get inside though..."

"Think the Thunderbird could've tunneled in maybe? My claws work for digging. Maybe its work just as well – found a weak spot in the outer walls and just dug in?"

"Maybe. But since no article mentions an entrance like the one you're thinking of, I'm betting it's hidden it to keep any random hiker or geologist from getting in and pestering it. Or, y'know, revealing it to the world as an alien."

Wait a second. What about the amnesiac storm survivors? Had _they_ found the entrance by sheer accident, and the Thunderbird done something to their brains to mess up their short term memory, like an electric shock, so they wouldn't remember finding it? It still didn't explain the other missing persons, but it was the first thing in a while that sounded truly believable about this whole mystery.

He radioed in to Magnus with the information.

* * *

Bluestreak had grown bored in sticking around Ultra Magnus and Arcee during their search of the slope they were on. And so he'd darted off sneakily to explore the other slope adjoining this one, the north one. The west slope was where the storm was fiercest. Maybe another one of those metal pylons was over there? Maybe it could help lead them to the entrance all three of them were trying to find. After all, if you wanted to hide something from curious humans – why not hide it in a place they would never in their right minds go?

So wait. Did that mean the amnesiacs hadn't been in their right minds when they had stumbled across the entrance? Was this like that instance in _Pirates of Caribbean_ where you had to be hopelessly lost to find Davey Jones' Locker? Or had they just gotten insanely lucky? Or...no...that was crazy! Had the Thunderbird itself rescued them from the storm, brought them safety, and once it had let up, short-circuited their memory in order to safeguard its hiding place and existence? A-And anyway, what would the Predacon even have to gain from rescuing random humans? Nothing so far as he could see. By rescuing them then releasing them it risked a great deal, far more than it got in return. Sure it messed with their memories, but there was always a chance of that backfiring – possibly in a nasty or lethal way. Humans didn't have the same protection against electric surges as 'Bots did.

He was so deep in fantastical guessing that he wasn't aware of where his pedes were falling. His right pede hit a patch of slippery, sandy mud near the base of a cliff. Unable to gain traction, the young gunner lost his footing and tumbled forward, letting out a little shriek of a noise as he prepared for his helm to ram into the stone. But it never came, at least not that one. His helm and upper body passed right through it, resulting in a heavy crash that hurt considerably. Felt like he had a dent on his chin or something. Oh, Ratchet would not be pleased...

For a moment he simply lay there, re-routing power to dampen the pain. Then, slowly, his optics opened. The first thing he saw...was a human skeleton, grinning at him through a flesh-less skull.

He screamed. Frantically he moved backwards, falling back out into the storm and landing on his back before sitting back up, hugging himself and cycling air rapidly. Within mere kliks he heard two pairs of pedefalls and two voices shouting "What is it?!" and "What's wrong?!" Magnus and Arcee then arrived, panic in their optics. Glyphs for alarm, concern, and fear flashed through their fields.

"Blue! Blue, are you okay?! What happened?"

Shakily he pointed towards the cliff, explaining: "S-Some kind of illusory wall t-thingy. Fake wall. I-I-I fell through it a-and there was a-a skeleton in there. Human." He let out a whimper, bunching his knee spikes up to his faceplates.

Arcee knelt and did her best to calm down the frightened gunner, giving him a tentative embrace while reassuring him that the skeleton was harmless. He was alright. Nothing was going to happen. It was just a bad jump start. Not the best way to get introduced to human anatomy either. Eventually he relaxed enough to become coherent in his speech.

The Commander considered the spot Bluestreak had indicated. Curiously, he approached and reached out as if to place a hand on the wall. It promptly passed through it as if it weren't there. A quick look inside showed the skeleton that had startled Bluestreak lying in a long tunnel easily wide and tall enough to permit Infernus's beast form with the wings extended partly – easily big enough to permit the Thunderbird.

"Bluestreak, it's alright. That skeleton has been there for quite some time. That doesn't mean the beast is home. And we don't know if it was killed by it anyway. A predator may have dragged the body here to use the illusory wall as a convenient hiding place. The Thunderbird may have simply never bothered to move it. Possibly thought it might be a good deterrent to anyone who stumbled across it. Going by your reaction, it seems it's reasoning was sound."

The young gunner swallowed hard but nodded and rose to his pedes. "R-Right. Let's go see if it's here."

"And if it's willing to talk to us." Arcee added.

In a close grouping, the two mechs and the single femme passed through the illusion, walked by the skeleton, and delved deeper into the tunnel that led to their quarry.

* * *

Outside the tunnel and on the other side of the mountain, and thus unseen by them, a large metallic avian slunk through the underbrush from further down the slopes, the creature's body sparking with stored electricity. Its right wing hung limp at its side, tattered and torn. Suddenly, its powerful olfactory sensors picked up a trio of scents unfamiliar to its databanks. Its two pale yellow optics flashed as it stored the scent to track, then narrowed.

Strangers were on Grimwing's territory. Strangers, moreover, that smelled an awful lot like him. Emitting a growl, he pushed onwards, following the scent the same way a bloodhound followed a blood trail.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Phew! More research into Mount Taylor. :)**

 **Also, Spiritstrike** **–** **my gift to you, my friend. I'm introducing Grimwing for you. :3 Mainly 'cause I couldn't think of a better name for the Thunderbird of Mount Taylor. You've been so supportive and complementive of my writing that I felt I had to repay you some way. I can't pay you or offer anything physical...but I _can_ add a character. :)**


	15. Chapter 15: War of Words

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 15

* * *

Ultra Magnus took point as they trod down the darkened tunnel. Three sets of blue optics cast a dim, eerie glow into the murk. Bluestreak stayed close to him, gun hand held in front of him and trembling slightly. Every so often a particularly loud pedefall would make him jump and whimper. Arcee drew closer to the young gunner after a few such instances, her field mingling with his in an effort to calm him. Infernus had understood the strategic advantages of sending him, but perhaps Bluestreak should be sent back to the hangar. After his encounter with the skeleton, he was behaving far too skittishly.

Privately the stoic mech wondered at the darkness. As he had mentioned earlier, Predacon optics had tended to be overly receptive to photons, sometimes to the point of causing the beast to go permanently blind. Avioid Predacons had seemed to be the most common sufferers of optical degradation. Was this Thunderbird, an Avioid, one such sufferer? Could it simply not stand bright lights? That might explain why it was only theoretically active during thunderstorms – the clouds blocked out the bright sunlight. But what of the lightning strikes then? As a "Thunderbird" did it have some sort of immunity to the effects, both visual and physical, that a lightning bolt produced? He shook his helm almost imperceptibly. If and when they found the beast, perhaps it could offer some insight. That is, if it didn't attack them on sight for invading its home. They _were_ trespassing after all, and reports had labeled Predacons as highly territorial.

It was a forlorn hope, but perhaps this particular beast was civil enough to at least hear them out. If so, perhaps they could convince it that they meant it no harm and that they actually needed its help.

The mech turned to the skittish young gunner when he yelped and pointed his blaster into the depths of the tunnel.

"Bluestreak, please remain calm. We have not been attacked yet. From all indications our Thunderbird is not present."

"You think it's out there in the storm, powering up?" Arcee wondered.

"Everything seems to point to that being the case..." he admitted slowly. She was quick to note the hesitation in his voice.

Still, he admitted that he was...uneasy. If their target was out charging up in the storm, they would be in for a possibly lethal battle once it returned. Its systems would be overladen with electricity, its circuits and motor relays super-charged. For all they knew it could channel that electricity out of its body in devastating discharges that could fry an Autobot's more sensitive systems in a flash. Its strength would be even greater than Bulkhead's. And like Infernus had warned them, its talons could easily rip them to pieces. But they would try every avenue possible to avoid inciting a battle with it. They wanted it as an ally, not an enemy.

* * *

Grimwing drew nearer his den, hissing to himself. The scents he had been following were all converging and headed towards that point. He admitted he was curious to detect the scent of a fellow Cybertronian, and three of them no less. But none of them matched the unique scent of the Builder – the Builder against whom he bore a bitter grudge. He snarled in remembrance of that time long past, his charged processor replaying the series of events as he went along, lame wing dragging in the mud-slick terrain. The snarl slowly grew louder as he felt the dead weight beside him.

He had never forgotten. And he would never forgive.

 _SHOCKWAVE'S LAB  
KALIS, CYBERTRON  
4,000 YEARS AGO_

 _Hidden away in a lab beneath the War-torn city of Kalis, one of Shockwave's newest creations paced around as it grew used to having a frame to move in once more. The Builder had named him the moment he had emerged from the cloning vat: Grimwing. He had liked the name and its severe regality. Another, older clone who resembled him lurked in one corner of the lab, deep orange optics watching his every move. "Skyrender" he was called. Older and more experienced, but he had more of a temper than his younger sibling, and he followed the Builder's orders without question like most of the other Predacons._

 _Grimwing's mind reviewed all that Shockwave had told it of its approaching mission. He was going to be a protector for his allies off-world resources as soon as his basic training was complete. At all costs he was to keep Energon out of the hands of the nefarious Autobots. The planet he was going to be stationed on was carbon-based, primitive, mostly water with some land, and treacherous. Some Predacons had fallen offline already under mysterious circumstances, though the Builder knew not how. He had admitted there were primitive carbon-based life forms living there, but they were incapable of harming a Cybertronian. They were small, fragile, and they lacked advanced weaponry and transportation. There might be a few Neutrals there, but he had every reason to believe them dead._

 _He watched Skyrender leave the lab on receiving a communication from the Builder. Frankly, Grimwing was curious about this whole conflict going on, and with no one in the lab now, perhaps he could do some research into one of the Builder's computers. Shockwave was very protective of his data, but he simply wanted to know a little more about the "enemy" he was going to be warring against. Surely the Builder would not mind some harmless intelligence gathering? Knowing your prey well helped in the hunt._

 _The Avioid flew over to one of the consoles he had seen the Builder using frequently, using his beak to punch in the security code. At once files upon files were revealed in the hard drive, many of which appeared to be battle reports. He was stunned to see that the "Autobots" were suffering catastrophic losses against the Decepticons. In one particular battle it was nothing short of wanton slaughter: mechs, femmes, even sparklings had been slain. So much death...According to this report, not one Autobot had been left standing by the conclusion, but they had fought till the very last, holding their ground selflessly. He found a sense of sympathy forming in his spark. These Autobots sounded noble to him, unafraid to meet their ends like true warriors. Could the same be said for the Decepticons?_

 _He dug further into the files. Surely there was something in here that detailed the cause of the conflict. It had to be something major for such a large scale war and loss of life to result. But before he could locate such a file a voice spoke from behind:_

 _"Grimwing? What are you doing?"_

 _The Builder emerged from the entryway, his single red optic boring into the confused yellow optics of the Avioid._

 _He jerked away from the console, endeavoring to explain:_

 _*Why do I fight them, Builder? What have they done to us?* he asked over short-band._

 _"We fight because Lord Megatron orders us to. We fight to bring a new order to Cybertron." He showed no shock over his ability to speak in such a manner._

 _*But what have they done aside from die in droves? We gun them down – but for what? That is not war. That is slaughter. There is no honor in killing an innocent, defenseless child or their protector.*_

 _Shockwave stared at him for a moment in silence. Grimwing began to feel uneasy at that red stare. Without a true faceplate, he was impossible to read. Was he in trouble? Had he said something he should've have?_

 _"Skyrender." the Builder said simply._

 _The larger, older Avioid emerged from the entryway. He looked to Shockwave for further clarification. Shockwave in turn spun about and walked out of the chamber, saying coldly:_

 _"Deal with the traitor. We cannot have dissension among the ranks. If he sympathizes with the Autobots, give him the fate that has befallen them."_

 _The door hissed shut with a resounding clang. Skyrender's optics flashed in a manner Grimwing saw as being far too pleased. His talons retracted. Grimwing barely had time to react before the larger Predacon flew at him, screeching at the top of his vocalizer. He spread his wings to block the blow, and they locked talons, flailing about the room in a vicious struggle as Skyrender attempted to claw him to shreds. Skyrender's talons found their mark almost every time against the less experienced new-built, ripping open gashes the oozed Energon. Grimwing got in a fair few bites and slashes, but he was overpowered and lacked experience. But if he was going to die today, it would not be without a fight._

 _In trying to avoid a retaliating swipe, Grimwing thus discovered his predecessor's innate talent: spatial displacement. In other words, opening wormholes._

 _Still screaming, the two titanic birds tumbled into a whirling vortex, clawing savagely at one another. They felt the atmosphere change from laden with chemicals and toxins to one that was almost overwhelmingly clear. Lightning crashed and clouds roared around them as the wormhole reacted with the foreign air, stirring it into a frenzy. Winds whipped past them. And still Grimwing fought back as well as he was able. He knew it would be in vain though._

 _Skyrender pulled back, raising a talon: "If you pity those poor fools..."_

 _He raised a talon..._

 _"Why don't you_ _ **join them**_ _?"_

 _And struck. Grimwing howled as the talon shredded through the joints and gears that connected his port wing to the rest of his frame, electrically charged Energon spurting forth in a torrent. To drive further home the message, Skyrender grabbed the slightly smaller Predacon and flung him off away from him. Grimwing, unable to fly now, could do little except plummet towards the ground, watching as his kin flew back home, and pray that the impact did not kill him._

* * *

He snarled again, shaking the last dregs of the memory back into his mind's recesses. The one who had given him life again had been the reason he had nearly died. He was not about to let such an affront go, even after countless vorns on a planet so different, so far from home. If these were agents of the Builder sent here to finish the task he and Skyrender had unknowingly failed in...he would rip them all asunder. He would send a message to the Builder that he wanted nothing more to do with him or this conflict of his.

He had lost his loyalty. He now only served himself.

On reaching the entrance to his mountain-side den, he checked again for scents. Here, the three unknowns were almost overpowering. They had been here recently, and it seemed that they had gone inside. Curiously enough he could detect almost ridiculous amounts of fear chemicals permeating the cooler air. One of these hunters was as frightened as those slain sparklings had no doubt been. That did not quite fit with it being an agent of the Builder. His minions were not allowed to show fear. And so he entered the cavern system he had come to claim as his home. Multiple targets were inside of it, one of whom was scared near senseless. This was his home and he wound defend it if the trespassers struck back...but he was quite curious to know which one of the three scents was the one suffering a panic attack. These were fellow Cybertronians after all. Perhaps they were fellow Predacons who had also grown disillusioned with the conflict they had been forced into?

He snorted almost in amusement as he passed down the tunnel. The fear chemicals had yet to die down to any extent. He glanced back, noting the collection of creamy white remains he used as a deterrent for overly inquisitive natives. Surely the skeleton at the entrance couldn't have scared a towering, bestial titan?

* * *

The three Autobots had reached the main chamber at last. It was an expansive place to begin with it, but judging by the sharp cutting angles on some of the stones it was concluded that it had been artificially enlarged by the resident to better accommodate its size. Big enough that if it came to a brawl, they would have enough room to maneuver. Or so Ultra Magnus said. But that would also mean their Thunderbird would have enough room to move as well. That could prove lethal.

There wasn't much in the chamber in terms of items. The most there was to note was a slab of stone carved to act as a make-shift recharge berth. However, there were some pieces of metal strewn about, some cylindrical and some spherical, that looked like they had been carved meticulously by a sharp object, and they were covered in both images and cyberglyphs. One of the symbols was terrestrial and matched the one atop the copper spire they had seen outside: a Navajo Thunderbird.

Arcee picked one of them up and examined it, admiring the intricate detail. "Hm. Seems our Thunderbird's a bit of an artist. Ratchet would love to see this."

"Guys." Bluestreak said. There was something odd in his voice that made both her and Ultra Magnus turn. "Turn on your headlights."

Eyeing each other, they wordlessly obeyed the young gunner's request.

And froze at what they saw.

Adorning every inch of the walls were beautifully done, mural-like paintings. They seemed to be visual accounts of the Thunderbird's interactions with the Navajo people, along with other plainly disconnected images. One image showed it teaching the natives to refine copper, using some of its lightning to super-heat a primitive forge. Another showed it within the cavern, listening to a few of them speak their grievances and tell it their story and history. Yet another showed it prowling the mountainside as a storm raged around it. A glance upwards revealed an intricate map of the stars, their motions dutifully noted. Simple calculations were etched into the stones rimming the ceiling like a mathematical border. It seemed the beast was keeping track of stellar motions in the hopes of finding Cybertron again, or perhaps it was keeping track of them for another reason.

They looked back down at the wall paintings. One showed a battle between two of the thundering avians, talons locked as they screamed murder at one another. That seemed to tally with Infernus's report of Neal's tale. A fight had taken place between the beast and another of its kind, though the image did not clarify why. Another, more recent painting, seemed to account the arrival of the Europeans encountering the native Navajo. Tsoodzil loomed in the distance, lightning crackling at its peak as if in warning to the trespassers. But throughout history never once did the Thunderbird seem to involve itself in the squabbles of the humans. There was no image showing it retaliating.

One image in particular though, one of the ones not related to the Navajo or history accounts in general, nearly made their Energon freeze. There was no mistaking the tall and powerfully built form of Shockwave, nor was there mistaking that trademark single red optic. Across the image was a slash of red and the cyberglyph for "Death" was scrawled atop the slash, almost as if done in a fit of rage. While the other images had faded somewhat over the years, this one remained vibrantly colored.

"Whoa. Somebody does _not_ like Shockwave." Arcee noted tersely. Dark as that message was, that might be a good sign. If the beast had an ax to grind...

But apparently that wasn't what Bluestreak wanted them to see. The younger gunner pointed to the floor near the walls of the southern side of the chamber, close to where the entrance was.

"Look over there."

Lining the base of the wall were five indentations in the ground roughly the size of an adult human. They had been filled in with small stones that looked like giant pebbles, and each bore a significantly larger one as a kind of headstone. And each and every one of these headstones possessed a carved cyberglyph phrase:

" _Forgive me_."

"The missing natives..." Ultra Magnus whispered hoarsely.

They all fell deathly silent when a loud hissing noise met their audials, echoing around the chamber. Bluestreak went as rigid as a statue, unable to emit even a squeak in his fright.

[No. Sudden. Moves.] Ultra Magnus ordered over their comm. links. [Turn around. _Very_ slowly.]

* * *

Grimwing let his warning hiss echo for a moment, observing them. It was not a true threat. It was just his way of saying no funny business. His den, his rules.

He did not recognize any of the three individuals standing in his den. Two were mechs – one large and powerfully built and obviously in charge judging by his bearing; the other was smaller and lighter, built for speed and agility. He was also the source of the fear chemicals. The third was a femme of a similar light, lithe body build. Actually, he admitted the femme was rather pretty. Her frame held a certain feline grace that attracted him. He wasn't really interested in their appearances though. He was more interested in the crests each had on their frames. The femme had hers on a dorsal fin while the two mechs had theirs on their shoulder armor.

He knew that crest. These were...by Onyx, these three were Autobots! Surely if he approached and communicated with them they would be willing to speak in return. They had not yet fired on him. Perhaps they would be reasonable. But they looked startled, as if they had never laid optics on anything like him before. And the little blue mech looked scared beyond reason. He felt sorry for him. If they had been stationed here, why then the surprise?

The Avioid took a step forward, keening an introduction in his own language. He was stunned to see the large mech revert one of his hands into a long-barreled blaster and point it at him. The other two followed suit, one producing what looked like a shotgun, the other a pistol-like blaster. Grimwing paused midway into his second step and put his talon back on solid ground. Did they not understand? All Cybertronians had translation programs to assist in interpreting different dialects. That was how he had come to be fluent in Navajo. Did these three not have the programs to help them understand his native dialect? Why not if so?

"What do we do?" squeaked the little blue mech. His whole body was trembling like he was suffering an isolated earthquake. "Sir, what do we do?"

"Do not fire." replied the larger mech in command of the three. "Infernus ordered us to avoid confrontation with the creature, and that is what we will do. Firing will only provoke it."

Grimwing snorted at what he interpreted as an insult. He was being referred to as an "it" and a "creature?" Well that was rude of them! The least they could do was be a little more respectful. They _were_ trespassing on both his territory and in his den without his permission. How would they feel if he came into their den and starting speaking in such a manner? But he now understood they were under orders to be mindful of him, to not fire on him which would thus add insult to injury. He wondered why. Were they here for something? Had their war with the Decepticons finally ended after all this time? Were they here gathering survivors to take them home?

More slowly this time, he took a step forward, keening once more in his native language. The tall mech still had his blaster out and aimed at him, but he noted a forceful hesitation in his blue optics. Still the little blue mech trembled in fear at his slow approach. The sole femme seemed to be wary in a more level-helmed way. She was observing with the most calm of the three, but her whole frame was tense, ready to react in a moment's notice. She seemed to sense that a fight wasn't what either party really wanted. And so he took one more step.

 _KA-KOOM_!

Grimwing's helm flinched sharply to one side as the high-powered energy shot struck him, the still-frightened firer looking stunned and guilty at the same time. He looked back up, but now the curiosity previously glittering in his optics was gone. He was annoyed now. Here he was being nothing but civil with them and he'd been shot at just for trying to greet them. Spreading his one working wing out, he screamed at the trio of Cybertronians at the top of his vocalizer, dull accents along his wings igniting to a vicious red as a warning to them. His cry happened to coincide with a particularly powerful clap of thunder that made the mountain rumble. At that, the little mech yelped and hid behind his larger companion.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Sir, it looks pretty provoked to me! Orders?" barked the femme.

"Do not fire!" the leader repeated more firmly. "It has not attacked! This is a threat display, nothing more! Only if it strikes will we strike back!"

The Avioid hissed. "It" again. That did it. These Autobots needed a lesson in manners. Clacking his beak in another fair warning, he channeled some of the stored electricity from his body through his beak – and on opening it, released it in a concentrated wave of energy at the trio. They barely managed to get out of the way in time. Through the flash, Grimwing saw the tall mech press a hand to the side of his helm and speak over the crackling of electricity:

"Infernus? The mission's been compromised! We need assistance!"

* * *

 _Location: Area Fifty-One, Hangar E_

 _Exact Geographic Coordinates: Unavailable_

 _General Location: Twenty-seven miles outside Rachel, Nevada_

 _Time: 1300 hours_

Ratchet tinkered with the few final upgrades while doing his best to tone out Infernus's anxious pacing. His human partner napped lightly on the sofa to make up for some lost hours. The teens and June were elsewhere, coordinating with Fowler about their flattened homes. Perhaps if the nurse or Rafael were here they could calm Infernus out of his nervousness. As it was, he did understand his anxiety even if he felt he was blowing it out of proportion:

Ultra Magnus had given his word to to the Primeling to keep him updated as to current events, but it had been some time since his last report. The youth was becoming more and more anxious as the silence dragged on. Outside of those communications he had no way of keeping tabs on them other than Ratchet himself checking for their life signals. What could he do to soothe his anxiety? He didn't know. Just saying he should calm down might result in an emotional implosion. He was far too nervy right now. But sometimes bluntness was the only way to show someone they were being a little insensible.

"Infernus –"

The Primeling paused in his pacing long enough to shoot him a glance and say: "Don't say it."

"You are overreacting. Silence doesn't necessarily mean trouble. They might not have anything to report, that's all. Not all missions end in fire fights."

No sooner had those words escaped the medic's vocalizer did his console flare to life. Ultra Magnus's voice shouted over what seemed at first to be the worst static interference anyone in the hangar had heard:

[Infernus? The mission's been compromised! We need assistance!]

Two noises in rapid succession cut in then, noises that made the Primeling freeze like a statue even as his optics went round in alarm:

 _SKREEE – KRA-KOOM!_

Daily jolted awake at the screaming cry and the loud crack of thunder. The communication promptly devolved into nothing but static.

"Ultra Magnus? Commander? Ultra Magnus, come in!" Infernus demanded. "Answer me!"

Nothing. Just more static. A growl escaped his vocalizer, one that made the medic tense. Right at that moment, he had sounded more beast than mech. Anger and protectiveness was beginning to overwrite his unique personality code and his sense of preservation. He headed for the hangar entrance but Prowl grabbed hold of his arm in a vice grip. Another growl worked its way out.

"What the hell are you doing?! Let go! They're in trouble!"

"You are in no state to be battling a Thunderbird, Infernus." argued the tactician calmly. "You are still recovering from your last fight with Starscream. I have calculated that there is a far higher chance of you being killed in such a brawl than of walking away from it. I will not let you throw your life away. We cannot afford to lose another Prime."

The Primeling's burning blue optics narrowed dangerously to mere slits. His field flared, almost overpowering the other mech's. Others would have backed down at the obvious intimidation. Prowl was not one of them.

" _Let. Me. Go._ " Infernus growled slowly. "That's an _order_ , Prowl _._ The longer we stand here arguing statistics, the more likely it is we'll lose three Autobots in one go. Now. _Let. Go._ "

Infernus eyed his oldest sibling for a brief moment as if daring the other to try and argue. Then, after plainly deliberating possible outcomes of fighting with him, almost none of which he assumed resulted in Prowl being the winner, the black and white Praxian released his grip. He knew he was worried. He got that. Going into a fire fight while you were basically still wearing a boot cast was a pretty dumb idea. But Prowl seemed to be forgetting one vital variable in his calculations. And that variable was busy watching the two aliens from up on the catwalk, expression worried and impressed at the same time.

"Mark? With me."

The private was on his feet and darting down the stairs in a flash. Infernus finished transforming just as he hit the cement once again. Extending a tattered wing, he let Mark climb up onto his back. It took but a few short seconds to find a good place to settle in, hands and feet finding convenient nooks in his armor plating to act as holders.

Ratchet came over to them. "Mr. Daily. Your weapon."

He held out one hand to show an AK-47 now surgically altered to be more dangerous to a Cybertronian. Its body had been redone entirely. Two lines of thin tubing ran up and down the weapon's lower barrel, each conveying large amounts of electricity from a small Cybertronian power cell contained in the stock. Instead of a magazine of regular bullets it now fired electrically charged ones that would provide a nasty sting to the target's mesh along with a jolt to their nervous system. Attached on the strap was something that looked a lot like a smart bomb, unarmed timer ticking baby blue.

If an AK-47 hadn't looked dangerous before it most certainly did now. This was what happened when you let an alien tinker with a gun. It became all kinds of dangerous.

Mark nodded his thanks silently as he slung the weapon over one shoulder and the medic withdrew to his console to open a groundbridge. One opened in mere seconds.

"Come on, pal. Let's go get 'em."

He was not expecting Infernus to throw his head back, flare his tattered wings, and unleash a deafening roar that shook the hangar's very foundation. Then he surged at and into the waiting portal.

* * *

Infernus leapt out of the portal see his three allies finishing avoiding a wide-wing swipe and electricity surge from the aggressive Thunderbird, idly noting that one wing hung limply at its side. Seemed he'd guessed right: even wounded, this thing was still incredibly powerful and dangerous. And like a true Thunderbird of Navajo lore it seemed to be able to manipulate lightning. Cool, but Mark's gun probably wouldn't be the best thing to use against it knowing that.

He landed in front of the trio, spinning about in the process to face the Thunderbird. Rearing back slightly, he opened his maw and unleashed another deafening, screaming roar that shook the mountain itself:

" _BACK OFF!_ "

On his back, he heard Mark sling his weapon from off his shoulder and ready it. Coincidentally the man repeated his warning:

"Back off, pal. Or you're getting it."

The Thunderbird's red wing accents flickered as it screamed back, and the Primeling was surprised to no end that he understood what it was saying:

" _They attacked first! In my home no less! They are the aggressors!_ "

Infernus's anger simmered down by a fraction. His Autobots had attacked even though he'd told them specifically to not tick this thing off? Something must've happened for them to suddenly deviate from the plan. There was something weird going on here. He wasn't getting the whole story.

" _Know you nothing of honor or civility, brother?! These barbarians barge into my home unannounced, belittle my worth, and proceed to shoot me!_ "

 _"I told them not to shoot!_ " he roared back.

It seemed to him now that the basis for this squabble was nothing more than a city-former sized misunderstanding. A miscommunication of some sort had happened between the two parties, and the Thunderbird had taken deep offense at the actions of one or more of his team mates.

"Smoke, what's going on?" Bluestreak asked in a squeak. He couldn't understand what the two beast-formers were saying. It sounded like they were having a vicious alpha-mech shouting match straight out of the _Lion King_. Infernus's voice snapped tersely over his comm. link in reply, quickly:

[I'm trying to keep this guy from maiming you alive for a breach of conduct! You three apparently pissed him off!]

" _They didn't mean any offense or_ _harm!_ _I told them only to fire if you gave them no other choice! You did something that made them think you might hurt them! Both of you are guilty here, not just them, but I apologize on their behalf!_ _Now stand down!_ "

To his astonishment the Thunderbird did as requested. It stood down. A sigh of relief seemed to come from the Autobots. He heard Mark lower his rifle and sling it back over his shoulder. A pulse of pride came from the Matrix itself. It was all he could do not to jump into the air in accomplishment or run in happy circles. A god was congratulating him on his success! He'd actually done it this time. He honestly couldn't believe it. He had resolved a dispute without resorting to fighting. Holy slag did that feel _good_!

"I suppose things have been...settled?" Ultra Magnus guessed warily, disengaging his weapons.

[I think so, yeah. But I think he wants answers as to what the Pit we're all doing in his home. And I think that would be easier if I transformed. I think I nearly blew out my vocalizer.] The Primeling massaged his throat gently with one clawed paw.

* _Mark, could you hop off please?_ *

The private nodded and slid down off an extended, heavily tattered wing. He and the others watched as the white dragon's form shifted and morphed to reveal what he really looked like. He curiously noted the Thunderbird jolting slightly on noticing the red Autobot crest on his shoulder. But there was something in its yellow optics now that looked suspiciously like reverence. Could it sense that there was something special about him? Or was it simply surprised to see a Predacon with an Autobot crest? From what he knew, all cloned Predacons were technically under the Decepticon faction.

"Now, I guess you wanna know why we're trespassing on your property, yeah?" Infernus assumed with an effort at a friendly smile. "I can explain. You gonna let me? Yeah? No?"

The Thunderbird bobbed its helm in acceptance, flickering red wing accents fading back to dull, dark grey and looking much less offended and more curious now. But what happened next took everyone by surprise: the Thunderbird transformed.

Its transformation sequence was just as incredible and complex as Infernus's. Its whole body shifted and folded out on itself. Talons were replaced with clawed hands and sturdy pedes with small, talon-like extensions, while its avian head and beak formed a sort of helmet for a narrow, handsome, hawk-like face. Its wings shifted to its back, remaining in a sort of folded yet semi-extended position, but its single wounded wing hung limply, barely seeming attached. Its broad fan-like tail vanished entirely. In the end, they were looking at a well built, lithe Predacon mech about the same height as Infernus colored storm-cloud grey-ish blue.

Then it spoke.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Dun dun duuuun! :3 I'm leaving ya'll on a cliffhanger 'cause I'm cruel like that. Just in time for Spring Break, too! :D**


	16. Chapter 16: Language Barriers

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 16

 _Note to Kaleia: Yeah, as I'll explain later, Grimwing did not intend to kill them. Controlling lightning is far easier in theory than in practice, and it's not really his fault that humans are so very fragile and sensitive. He will be meeting Neal later on in this chapter. As for Skyrender...that'll be revealed later on. ;)_

 _Also, I'm having way too much fun with Navajo words this chapter. xD Neal said it couldn't speak to them, but that was only to start with. It had to learn the language first, and that took a bit since not many people came to visit. My head-canon also declares that Predacon translation programs for foreign languages (i.e. "languages not from Cybertron") aren't as good as those of a modern Cybertronian. It takes a while for the language to identify. So since the Navajo helped him and he helped them in return, it was only sensible to speak their tongue in order to better communicate. Thus, Grimwing is fluent in Navajo._

* * *

" _Haash yinilyé_? _Shí éí l_ _ibá bit'a'í_ _yinishyé._ "

The Thunderbird's voice was surprisingly refined and gentlemanly in its enunciation, possessing a sort of sing-song lilt. Its voice was not as deep as they had expected, and it did not sound very old either. If any of them had to take a guess, the Thunderbird sounded like a forty year old human male. But with it speaking in a language none of the Autobots had in their databases, they had no idea what it was asking.

" _Haash yinilyé_?" repeated the Thunderbird inquisitively, helm tilting to one side.

Infernus recognized the unusual words as sounding much like Neal's strange greeting to him. The pronunciations were almost exactly alike if Neal's Southern drawl were removed. It hit him then: they were Navajo. This Predacon was fluent in freaking Navajo of all things. He honestly should've expected that, but that was actually pretty surprising. Not many non-Navajo knew it, and it wasn't exactly as common as Spanish, English, or any of the other more known terrestrial languages in the Americas. Familiar as it sounded though, he was as clueless as his friends. Should he have Mark call Neal in to act as a translator? The mechanic was the only man he knew off hand that understood the language.

"Um. We don't know Navajo, pal." he managed to get out. "I know it's a your-house-your-rules deal here, but we don't have Navajo in our translation programs. Kind of ironic considering I know a guy who can speak it."

He was stunned to hear a voice at his pedes say slowly:

" _Diné bizaad doo shił bééhózin da_." Mark managed to get out. His accent wasn't very good, but he knew he'd said the words correctly.

The Thunderbird looked down at the human sharply, yellow optics wide. It surprised everyone yet again when it cracked a wry, amused smile and replied back in plain, pigeon English:

"Ah! My apologies. It has been many, many moons since I have conversed with an English speaker in this form. My last real conversation in the language was with a geologist, and that was over fifty stellar cycles ago. Such a harsh, unpoetic language in my opinion. I speak the language of my adoptive clan habitually. and I admit it takes some time for my translation programs and vocalizer to re-calibrate. Thus, I will speak to you in a language you _do_ know."

The Autobots exchanged glances. Thank Primus for Mark. A Caucasian man had bothered to pick up a bit of the Navajo tongue. Mark for one would never in his whole life had he thought he would be using it to communicate to an alien that they didn't speak the language. He'd just picked some phrases up to impress the girls on site.

"Allow me to introduce myself in English. I am Grimwing. And you are?"

* * *

Infernus's wariness abated now that he had a name to work with. This Grimwing seemed like a pretty decent guy now that his original offense had worn off. Frankly he could forgive him for getting ticked at that. Anyone could be forgiven for getting a little mad if they were shot in the face by a energy shotgun. He would probably have reacted in a similar way.

He followed the Predacon's polite example: "I'm Infernus." He put a hand on his chestplates. Then he gestured to the others. "This is Ultra Magnus, Mark, Arcee, and –"

"I'm so, so, so sorry for shooting you! I didn't mean it, honest! You – I – I was just scared. I've never seen a Predacon before! Well, I mean, I have since Infernus is one, and there's another dragon one that tried to kill us a while back, but never one I didn't know! And you were coming at us and making noises! I thought you were going to hurt us! Please, please don't be mad at me!"

"Bluestreak." Infernus finished. The Primeling glanced at him curiously. "Wait, _you_ were the one to fire on him, Blue?"

"I'm sorry..." Bluestreak squeaked back.

Grimwing looked at the small mech for a moment or two in silence. This Infernus character was one of only two Predacons these three had ever encountered during their stay here? Shockwave had sent hundreds of his kind to this world. What about them? Was Infernus one of the stationed, and had he allied with these Autobots?

He left his questions for later. Grimwing nodded to the skittish youngling, reassuring him there was no harm done. He had detected fear chemicals near the entrance, so he was well aware one of the trespassers was incredibly nervous. He should consider himself fortunate that Predacons were built sturdy and that he had shot _him_ and not one of his brethren. They were not nearly as forgiving as he, and his friend was rather convincing he added with a nod to the white Draconian. Infernus nodded back.

Bluestreak appeared about ready to collapse from relief on hearing Grimwing say that. In the end, he managed a small, child-like smile of thanks. He apologized once more for good measure:

"I really didn't meant it, I swear! Me and my friends just don't have the best of experiences with Predacons as a rule. Either they're good like Infernus or bad ones like that big bronze dragon that wants to kill us. A fifty-fifty toss up isn't usually something to go staking diplomatic relations on, and your approach and noises just...I reacted instinctively. That skeleton you left near the entrance nearly gave me a spark attack! I thought that was a sign you were a bad Predacon! Again, I'm so, so sorry!" He clasped his hands together in an adorable beg.

Infernus was pleased to see the Predacon smile again as he assured him a second time there was no harm done. His own eagerness to meet them and curiosity to find out who they were was the true culprit here he said. He really should have been a little more wary considering one of them had been visibly on edge.

"So...no hard feelings?" the young gunner asked.

"No hard feelings, _Dootł'izh-_ _sółtįʼ_. Ah, sorry. Bluestreak."

He smiled faintly. This guy really was decent, and that he sympathized with Autobots was just icing on the cake. No one this civil of spark could ever have survived as a Decepticon. Megatron would've ordered him terminated for treason. Actually. Hang on. That was a good question to ask.

"Grimwing?" he prompted.

The Predacon turned to him inquisitively: "Yes, Infernus?"

"Why _did_ you switch sides? I thought all Predacons were under the Decepticon badge and they were pretty slagged loyal to them. They were made by Shockwave."

Grimwing loosed a growl from deep in his vocalizer. His clawed hands clenched into fits. An expression of murderous wrath contorted his expression temporarily. Arcee flicked her optics over to one wall briefly, Infernus following the motion. There on the wall was an image of Shockwave, slashed through with red and a "Death" glyph written on top of that. He understood then. This Predacon bore a deep grudge, and only Shockwave's demise would satisfy him.

"Do not speak that name to me, brother. He is the reason I am stranded here, flightless and scrounging for energy like some scraplet in the Acid Wastes. And that is because I sympathize with your cause – and your impeccable nobility. I read a battle report while still on Cybertron and...the death count for your side was nightmarish in that case. You would never resort to such barbarity. A massacre is not the same as warfare. I told the Builder that outright. I would not be involved in such nefarious acts. So Shockwave attempted to have me killed. And now, here I am – my wing useless, torn asunder by one of my own kin. I barely survive as is, forced into stasis lock after I absorb what I can from the electrical storms."

"Oh." was all Infernus could say in return. No wonder this guy held a grudge.

The Primeling for one had a feeling he knew which battle report he had read. There was one city Megatron bore a grudge against, even more so than Kaon, thanks to their being the producers of some of the most ruthless Senate Enforcers of the time: Praxus. It was one of the earliest Decepticon attacks on record. He frowned in remembrance. He'd read that report in the Hall. That hadn't even been a battle. It had been a massacre. Only a handful had survived, scarred for life.

Grimwing shook himself, his former light, polite mood returning. "But enough of that. What is it you are here for?"

In turns, the Autobots and their young Prime explained the reason for their search. He listened to them in silence, occasionally glancing down at the young human at Infernus's pedes. He appeared just as interested in the re-telling of events and information. Outside, the storm could be faintly heard through the mountain.

"I see. Shockwave has managed to recently clone another Predacon, and Infernus discovered the skull of a deceased one in a mountain mine where it was being hunted for by those – ech! – Insecticons. You and your allies thus put those pieces of information together and assumed he was going to try and clone more Predacons to eradicate the small Autobot resistance force – yours – stationed on this planet. And you were hoping I might join this force as an ally?"

"I know it sounds a bit pushy, but maybe if you did Ratchet could fix that wing of yours." Infernus suggested. "He's the best medic ever. He can fix anything. Or even if he can't, I bet Neal could. He speaks Navajo. Good with machines. You'll like him. He's actually the one who helped lead us to you."

Grimwing appeared to consider the offer for a while. After a minute or two had gone by, he looked Ultra Magnus square in the optics.

"I would need to take this up with your Prime. Optimus, I believe his name is. I saw his name in the report as a priority target. That is standard protocol. Alliances should always be arranged with the alpha of the clan. A Prime is the alpha of your faction. I must speak with him."

He saw all the Autobots flinch and look down. Infernus's flinch was the most noticeable, and he went so far as to glance away. This was unusual to him. He caught movement near the floor and saw the human named Mark making odd motions with his hand – waggling it rapidly under his chin with wide eyes and a taught expression. He had not seen that gesture before and so merely looked at him in a puzzled manner before looking back up at the Autobots.

"What? Is something wrong?" he asked. "Is he still on Cybertron? Can I not speak to him?"

Mark promptly smacked a hand to his face. His sharp audials heard him murmur exasperatedly, though it was more like a soft hiss: " _Way to open up the fresh wound there, pal..._ "

"Grimwing..." Arcee began slowly, her voice hitching. "Optimus...he's not on Cybertron, and he's not here on Earth either. He was here for a while, but he's...he's dead. H-He died recently in a large-scale Decepticon attack in Nevada. Went down with our old base. If not for him, we'd all be dead."

Infernus shifted uncomfortably as he continued in a soft mumble:

"Y'see, Grimwing... _I'm_ the new Prime."

* * *

Grimwing stared at the white Draconian in shock for he knew not how long. A Predacon Prime? There hadn't been one since Onyx Prime himself! He felt rather daft for not realizing before now. He had sensed the power in his roar and seen the contradictory age in his optics – youthful frame, but aged in spirit. He had even sensed a strange energy from him, but had chosen to take no heed of it. The name itself should have been a dead give away. Always, always a Prime was given a new name to reflect their status and title. Infernus was a Name of Power relating to fire, fitting with the shape of a dragon he possessed.

Shame burned in his spark as the shock began to die down by a fraction. He could slapped himself for his imbecility. He had actually screamed – _screamed_ _–_ at a Prime! Instinctively, he bowed deeply, crossing a hand over his chestplates. He could not address the Prime properly until he apologized. What an idiot he was, yelling at an avatar of Primus!

"Forgive my harsh words from earlier, Prime. I meant no disrespect. My home is yours. And my sincerest condolences for your loss. From what little I heard of him through exchanges between Megatron and Shockwave, I understood he was a fine Prime. _Hózhǫ́ náhásdlį́į́_."

"Um, thank you. Apology accepted. Now could you stop with the bowing, mech? It's really awkward, okay?" the Prime asked.

He corrected his posture at once. This Prime didn't seem to be very big on formality. An interesting twist, but it made sense when his youth was taken into account.

"So I suppose that means I will be coordinating my alliance through you?"

"Yeah. And really you've already done kinda that. There isn't really anything to go signing, so..."

Hesitantly he extended a hand. Grimwing looked at it curiously before accepting it. He knew what a simple handshake was. The two beasts shook hands once before disconnecting. A friendly smile bloomed on Infernus's lip-plates.

"Welcome to the Autobots, Grimwing. Now let's head back to _our_ home and have the doc look at that wing."

* * *

 _Location: Area Fifty-One_

 _Exact Geographic Coordinates: Unavailable_

 _General Location: Twenty-seven miles outside Rachel, Nevada_

 _Time: 1400 hours_

Fowler strolled back from the command building at a brisk pace. June and the three teens followed at his side and behind him. It had taken a bit of work on his part, but their families were going to be given temporary housing on site (not the barracks though) until more permanent places of residence could be arranged. While on site housing was no luxury hotel or condominium suite, it was no worse than Jack and June's old home and had all necessary accommodations – even wi-fi so that Raf could assist the 'bots from home if needed.

They passed very near another hangar where a trio fighter jets were being painted and maintained. Jack caught glimpse of a man inside the hangar when he gave him a wave from atop the nose of one of the jets. The man abandoned his post and jogged over to them, wiping his hands clean on a rag hanging from his hip, grinning. When he reached them Jack noted the wrinkles in his skin and the streaks of grey in his hair. He looked pretty good for an older man, and his arms were muscular from work.

"Um, hello. Who're you?" June asked.

"What? You mean the kid never mentioned me? Even after I helped find him a Thunderbird?" the man wondered, sounding somehow amused and insulted at once.

"Oh! You must be Mr. Rowland!" Rafael realized. "Infernus told us that you'd told him a story and pointed him to Mount Taylor where a Thunderbird supposedly lived."

"We were all heading over to check on them. Y'know, see if they actually found it. Or if Bulkhead and Wheeljack managed to find Arion or the Nemean Lion's remains. Thanks to Raf here we have reason to believe that all those mythological monsters from around the world might really be human sightings of Predacons. Care to join us, Mr. Rowland?" Fowler offered.

The mechanic grinned and said it would be his pleasure. He'd always wanted to see the inside of what the kids at the auto-shop had taken to calling "Hangar E.T." One of the little devils had said he was going to prank the poor aliens and do just that to their hangar – grab a stencil and spray paint in an extra "T" for a giggle. This earned a laugh from Miko and a request to help with the prank.

They came around to the hangar's entrance from the side. Miko snickered inexplicably, prompting the others to turn to her in confusion.

"Looks like the prank's been pulled already." she hinted impishly. "Look."

Everyone looked up to where she was pointing. Indeed, at some point recently the prankster auto-shop worker had somehow gotten up to the roof of Hangar E. Now, next to that big, bold E was a big, bold T. Not even the federal agent could suppress a smirk. Ratchet would not be happy if he ever saw that and he definitely wouldn't be happy with the culprit when he found them. It wasn't meant in a mean way he knew (the pranker was just having some fun with puns and paint) but the doc was unfortunately a tightly-wound spring of a mech.

They reached the lip of the hangar's entrance. Then they stopped dead in their tracks at what they saw within.

It was a mech about the same height as Infernus, colored the deep grey-ish blue of a storm cloud. A bird's head formed a strange helmet over his helm, framing a narrow, hawk-like face with bright yellow optics. A clawed hand shaded those optics from the bright artificial lights that hung above them. What was more, this stranger mech was sitting at an exam berth having a limp, shredded wing that hung behind its back looked at by the resident crotchety medic. Infernus stood to the side, an anxious, expecting expression on his faceplates. Bulkhead and Wheeljack were watching from farther back, each having returned safely from their respective missions.

"Sweet Mother of Mercy...It can't be..." Neal breathed. The bird motif so obvious in its design, the limp, torn wing, the color scheme that so eerily resembled a brewing thundercloud...

"Who in blue blazes is that, Prime?!" Fowler demanded. "What's he doin' on site without express permission? Bryce'll have my head on a charger when he finds out!"

The stranger's helm snapped up from his staring contest with the floor, attempting to rise with a faint snarl. The wings on the mech's back flickered twice with a sharp red light. Without hesitation, Ratchet konked him over the helm with a nearby tool and snapped at him to sit still – he wasn't done with him yet. The stranger mech gave in with a bad grace, a deep frown on his lip-plates. While the humans couldn't hear the low-frequency noise it was making, they felt the hairs on their necks stand upright. It was almost like he was warning the agent to watch his tongue and tone.

Infernus's own helm jerked over to look at the federal agent.

"Uh...Fowler, say hello to Grimwing. Grimwing, this is Special Agent Fowler." Infernus said slowly. "He acts as our liaison with the U.S government. Pretty please don't kill him. He talks like that to everyone. And we kinda need him alive for him to do his job."

Miko cracked a grin and sprinted for the beast mech with a shout of "Awesome!" The Primeling couldn't help snickering at Grimwing's slightly puzzled, alarmed look as the girl bounced around his pedes spewing out questions one after the other with next to no pause in between. He seemed to be trying to answer but could barely keep up with the torrent, and obviously was far too courteous to interrupt her. One clawed pede was lifted and moved away as if he was scared the girl might try to bounce up and climb his leg.

"Heh. It's cool, Grim. That's just Miko. She's totally harmless. Er, most of the time..."

"One of your charges?" Grimwing managed to ask.

Infernus jerked his helm to the green Wrecker off to one side. "Eh, technically she's Bulkhead's, but yeah. Mine's actually Mark." He turned to the green Wrecker. "Bulk, could you call your pet spazz off before she legit scares the new guy? He hasn't exactly been around a lot of people lately, and she...might be a bit much for him to handle right off the bat. Y'know, just a tad."

Bulkhead grinned and came over, scooping the girl up in one hand while Miko whined her protests: "Aw, come on, Bulk! I wasn't done interrogating him! Lemme down!"

"Let Ratchet finish with the poor guy first, okay? And maybe let him adjust a bit? He just got here, y'know, and he _is_ hurt."

The spunky Asian crossed her arms and harrumphed but offered no further protests as the Wrecker put her up on the catwalks.

Almost in a reverential daze, Neal stepped towards the beast mech. Grimwing caught the movement and watched him curiously, the Predacon's sharp yellow optics analyzing him in an almost computeristic fashion. What he was looking for was not obvious to anyone right away, but it became obvious he knew of Neal's heritage when he spoke once more his strange greeting from the cavern:

" _Shí éí l_ _ibá bit'a'í_ _yinishyé."_

Neal stared in stunned silence for a moment before letting out a bark of laughter and replying:

" _Shí éí Niyol_ _yinishyé_."

Grimwing smiled and bowed his helm. This must be the "Neal" Infernus had mentioned, his traditional name anglicized. The Prime was right. He was a good person, and that he was a descendant of the very tribe who had saved his life all those stellar cycles ago was incredible. After all, no other tribe knew about him. How else would he have known where to lead the Prime to? He would never have found him if not for this man. He would never have even known of these Autobots and their young Predacon Prime if not for him.

"A pleasure to meet you, Niyol."

"Ha! You speak my language!" the head mechanic exclaimed in English. "Well, I inferred ya did, but I don't believe it! You're the Thunderbird of Tsoodzil! You're still alive after all this time, and the kid managed to find ya and get you on our side! I'll be damned!"

"What...happened to your wing?" Rafael asked hesitantly. He'd noticed it hanging limp, torn from what looked like giant talons. That _had_ to have hurt when it had been inflicted.

The Predacon's smile flipped to form a frown. "To make a long story short, Shockwave deemed me a traitor and had one of his other clones attempt to kill me. He left me for dead here and fled back to Cybertron per Shockwave's orders. I...do not know whether or not he still functions. I have not seen him since. Perhaps he was reassigned here at a later date or perhaps he is dead. Perhaps he still yet guards one of the Builder's hidden labs on Cybertron. I do not know."

"Heh!" Miko smirked. "Guy sounds about as dumb as that dragon Ratchet 'bridged into the Arctic. He didn't even check to see if you really were dead!"

Ratchet spoke without even looking up from his exam, his voice curter and darker in tone than what the others were used to:

"With his injury Miko, assuming Grimwing _was_ offline was actually a fair assumption to make. Honestly, I'm amazed the wing is still attached. This other Predacon tore through his primary wing hinges and severely damaged some of the pivot joints as well. He even damaged some of the nerve bundles, which is why he can't move it – the wing is not receiving commands from his processor. From the looks of things he also managed to tear open the main lines that feed Energon into the wing. If not for a surprisingly powerful and healthy nanite repair system he would most likely would've bled to death over the course of just a few hours. He was incredibly lucky his nanites were in such good condition and were able to slow the loss of Energon. Even still, he was probably in great pain until he managed to heal."

For once Miko winced on hearing the medic speak. Jack winced as well. That actually sounded like some pretty nasty damage to them. Shockwave had really wanted this guy dead. Grimwing had pretty much hit the jackpot in terms of luck, but it had come with a cost.

"So...c-can you fix his wing, Ratchet?" the tween asked.

The medic didn't reply right away. When he did, it was with a derisive sounding snort.

"Rafael, I've tended to fliers before, but those have all been Seekers. I've never treated a Predacon before. Do I look like a veterinarian to you? Seeker wings are nothing like a bird's. I could try to, but I'm worried I might only make the damage worse. I know next to nothing about their anatomy. I never even thought I would be treating one!"

Grimwing raised a hand to bring the argument to a halt. He appreciated the medic's desire to get his wing functioning again he said, but he would never ask a miracle from him. During warfare there was always a lack of resources, and obviously he was more used to treating Seekers. That was only expected – Autobots had never had Predacon allies. If he could not repair it then that was that. He had survived this long without it. Reminder though it was, he could fight without it. He could survive a little longer.

"I know it may be a dead end, but maybe me or Neal could have a look?" Mark offered. "Not right now, but later. We're good with machines, and we've been around birds for longer than you."

With a sigh of "Might as well..." the medic concluded his exam and allowed the Predacon to rise to his pedes, retreating to his console to create a medical file for their newest member. The humans on ground level almost instantly surrounded him and started off where Miko's interrogation had ended. Questions like How old was he? Who was the Predacon who had attacked him? What exactly had led to him turning traitor to the 'Cons? were answered in turn by the Predacon. Grimwing didn't appear nearly as off-put about the questioning now, and he answered each as they came.

Infernus did not watch them however. His gaze was fixated on Ratchet. He looked haggard, world-weary, and dissatisfied. He had a feeling he knew why. Ratchet always hated not being able to solve a problem one hundred percent. But...there _was_ a way to repair the wing if everything else failed.

' _You cannot be serious, Infernus. You risk everything if you do._ ' Solus argued. ' _When I said "Use it well" I meant don't waste that last charge._ '

' _Is it a waste if it means returning a very powerful Avioid to his full strength?_ _Things always do come with a price, Solus. Nothing is free. One may lose something but gain something else in return._ ' Optimus argued. ' _But I unfortunately have to side with her, Smokescreen. Returning flight to one mech and thus losing any chance to revive Cybertron seems like an uneven exchange._ '

' _...Is sacrificing yourself to ensure the survival of your team and then putting a rookie in charge of them an even exchange?_ ' the Primeling shot back with more heat than he intended.

Optimus said nothing.

' _...Sorry. That was uncalled for._ '

Still the former Prime said nothing. But after a moment he felt a pulse of apology. He was forgiven. He understood this would remain a sore subject.

' _There is one thing you have yet to do. You have not yet gotten the reports from Bulkhead or Wheeljack about their missions._ ' Vector suggested.

He'd been meaning to do that, actually. But being pre-occupied with Grimwing and Ratchet and Fowler and one thing and another he just hadn't gotten around to it. With their newest member now kept busy for the moment by the humans and remaining 'Bots, now was as good a time as any to get the two Wreckers' field reports.

* * *

"Hey, Bulkhead? Wheeljack? You guys find your Preds or what's left of 'em?"

Wheeljack turned on hearing the Primeling's voice, forestalling his question for Grimwing. He shook his helm, saying he'd come up with zilch on Arion. The myth detailing the horse hadn't really given him a definite area to search, the only city connected to him in any way being the ancient city of Argos. And to make things even more complicated that place was still occupied and pretty tightly packed, so searching the city had been hard. There had been an archaeological museum, but a hack of their network showed nothing that was unidentified or unusual.

"So in short I got nada." he said. "Either the guy's dead and the body's rusted into the dirt or he flew the coop. Or the 'Cons found the body before me."

"And Bulkhead? What about you? You get anything?" Infernus asked.

The green Wrecker also turned to face him from where he was keeping an optic on Miko. Infernus was obviously pleased to see him grin and hold up a single rusted fang almost a foot in length and a claw nearly twice that.

"Found these at a warehouse used by one of the dig crews. I think its connected to one of the universities or museums. Anyway, one of the workers had apparently dug it up a long time ago and had no idea what it was. Managed to snitch it from them while the place was empty – don't worry, checked for security cam's. The doc's gonna study them a bit first before meltin' 'em down."

"Nothing else at the site? Just the fang and claw?"

"S'far as I found, yeah. That was all that was in the warehouse. Kinda weird. You think they would've found the rest of the body."

"Not really." Infernus argued. "The myth of the Nemean Lion says that Hercules strangled it to death and skinned it for its hide so he could use it as armor. You know how tough Cybertronian armor plating is, Bulk – you've got some of the toughest around. Since we know it was a Predacon now I think we can guess that the Hercules guy either removed some of its outer plating and re-purposed it into armor, or he dragged the thing to a forge and had them melt it down and forge some armor out of it. Either way, that might explain why you only found the fang and claw – they weren't really necessary."

Surprisingly, Grimwing offered some insight: "Hm. Short-sighted of him. Predacon talons and claws can shred almost any material. He could have easily re-purposed one of the claws or fangs into a sturdy weapon."

"Well, all the stories about Hercules said he didn't much like fighting with weapons, Grimwing." said June. "The legends say he preferred to fight with his bare hands. Of course, sometimes he couldn't, but you get my point. He just didn't see much need for them I guess."

"Nice job anyway, Bulk. That's one less Pred we have to worry about being cloned and sic'ed on us. Now if it's all the same to you guys, I'm gonna go find a corner and let my voice recover from that shouting match. And possibly take a cat nap to keep the doc from nagging me about 'over-exertion' or something." announced the Primeling in a light-sparked, jabbing fashion. He massaged his throat tenderly. "Seriously, I'm not even kidding – it feels like I almost broke it. Now I know what you humans feel like when you get strep throat. That scrap freaking _hurt_ _s_."

"Screaming at the top of your voice tends to do that." Arcee observed in dry humor. "But at least the shouting match turned out alright. Lucky for us you're a persuasive shouter."

Infernus smiled faintly, letting out a short, soft laugh: "Yeah. I guess so, huh?"

He let his gaze wander over to where Grimwing sat with his back up against the hangar wall, legs crossed Indian style. Miko and Jack sat on one leg while Rafael sat on the other. June watched from nearby alongside Fowler – who kept stealing glances at him like he wanted to discuss something with him. He knew what he wanted to talk about. He'd deal with all the protocol scrap after a while. Bryce could wait until Grimwing was acclimated to being around his team and the humans.

Unconsciously he grinned broadly at the sight. Megatron had one Predacon on his side. Well, they had two.

' _Take that, you sucker._ ' he thought.

* * *

 **Author's Note: So here are the translations in order:**

 **1.)** _"Haash yinilyé? Shí éí libá bit'a'í yinishyé."_ _**Here, Grimwing is simply asking "Who are you?" and introducing himself as "dark wing" or "black wing" which could also be interpreted as "Grimwing."**_

 **2.)** " _Diné bizaad doo shił bééhózin da_." _**Mark is simply saying here that "I do not speak Navajo."**_

 **3.)** _Dootł'izh-_ _sółtįʼ_ _–_ _ **the first word means "blue" and the second one means "imperative" or "swift." You could interpret that broadly as "blue swift" or, in the sense Grimwing means, "Bluestreak."**_

 ** _4.)_** _Hózhǫ́ náhásdlį́į́_ _–_ _**this roughly translates to "balance has been restored." The phrase "rest in peace" is anglo-christian in origin and so the Navajo have no words for it. The phrase here is as close as you can get to it.**_


	17. Chapter 17: Pardoning the Past

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 17

* _Note to Kaleia: Grimwing didn't mean harsh as in simplistic or anything. He just likes languages with a certain...shall we say "musical lilt" to them? He likes phonetic languages better than ones like English, which is not phonetic_ _–_ _Navajo is phonetic, but so is Irish/Scottish Gaelic, Malay, and Polish to name a few. Phonetic just means that it sounds the same way you write it. English doesn't do that (red/read for example), though I will say that Navajo pronunciation depends heavily on volume and emphasis, because that can change the meaning._

 _Little sort of intermission. Don't worry. Another mission starts next chapter. :) You'll get your Infernus v. Predaking soon, Spiritstrike. ;3_

* * *

 _"Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember."_

 _-Lewis B. Smeades_

 _"Do not brood over your past mistakes and failures as this will only fill your mind with grief, regret and depression. Do not repeat them in the future."_

 _-Swami Sivananda_

* * *

 _Location: Area Fifty-One, Aircraft Hangar G_

 _Exact Geographic Coordinates: Unavailable_

 _General Location: Twenty-seven miles outside Rachel, Nevada_

 _Time: 1800_

"So you brought someone on site not authorized to be here, Prime? And you didn't think to check with me first? Do you realize you broke about three or four different protocols simultaneously by doing what you did?"

Infernus fidgeted nervously. Grimwing stood at his side, frowning a warning at General Bryce who stood at optic level to them both in another hangar emptied of occupants beforehand. Now, only two jets remained as silent witnesses. He noticed Grimwing's wing accents flicker faint red.

The Avioid was proving to be a staunch defender of him, but he also seemed pretty quick to flare whenever the Primeling was involved. He'd gotten a glimpse of the respectfully defendant personality in the hangar with Fowler. Thankfully Grimwing had quickly acclimated to Fowler's loud voice and his tendency to yell and be a little condescending with the team during the course of the afternoon – so Bluestreak had told him after repeatedly poking him awake. In his bestial optics, the federal liaison was less disrespectful and more brash and brave, unafraid to speak his mind to the Primeling. He did not mean disrespect. He was talking as one would with a close friend – the kind willing to yell, slap, and/or curse to get their point across.

With Bryce though? Yeah. Grimwing didn't like Bryce very well, and frankly neither did he. While the man was coldly respectful as befitting a high ranking military officer, his stiff-necked attitude and leaning towards faint hostility had set Grimwing's protectiveness off again. Fowler had been a little upset as was only warranted, but he'd been willing to cut him some slack on noticing that the Predacon was being examined by a medic. If there was one thing you didn't do, it was snatch a patient away from Ratchet in the middle of an exam just to be debriefed. And even after the exam, the fed had seemed content to just let the new guy relax and get used to the humans, his new Autobot clan, and generally become more comfortable to his surroundings.

"Bryce, I _know_ I should've told you the instant he got here. But in case you didn't notice, he's hurt. I wanted to have Ratchet look him over before I did anything else. I mean, seriously – the guy's wing's pretty much hanging by a thread or three in case you didn't notice, and it's also totally paralyzed. Oh! and he's been living entirely alone for nearly four thousand years in a mountain cave without access to Energon. Did I mention that? He _needed_ to have a medic have a look at him. You wouldn't snatch someone recovering from a lion mauling out of the hospital just to interrogate them, would you?"

The General's _sang froid_ cracked a little at that.

"Alright, I'll admit to that. But how do we know he won't cause problems? He's a wild Predacon – got no allegiance. Who's to say this isn't some massive plot by Megatron to get in your good graces and assassinate you?"

"Uh. I'm sorry. Have you even _met_ this guy?" Infernus argued, nearly snapping. "He _turned traitor_ on the 'Cons. They _tried to have him killed_ just because he questioned Shockwave's orders. I think that's fair reason to drop them and come over to us. Y'know. After being almost entirely alone for four thousand years give or take, unable to fly and barely getting by in the energy department in consequence. Point is, we can trust him. Yeah, he's a bit stand-offish, but he wouldn't hurt anybody. He's too civil for that."

Out of the corner of his optics he saw Grimwing flinch. He looked at him oddly. What had that been about?

"...Grimwing?" he asked warily.

The Avioid shook his helm. "Another matter for when we are finished here."

Bryce eyed Grimwing coldly, suspicion evident in his blue-grey eyes. The alien had looked distinctly guilty to him, and it seemed Infernus had caught it as well.

"So you would say he's a valuable asset to the team?" he continued.

"Totally. I mean, yeah he can't fly, but I think we'll find a way to get him airborne again. And trust me – he _can_ fight just as well without it. Really strong, really fast, and he can absorb lightning – er, electricity I guess – and redirect it into an attack. If not for me barging in and telling him to knock if off, he probably would've electrocuted my friends."

"And why did he attack them?"

Infernus explained. That whole thing had been a massive miscommunication, and Grimwing didn't hold anything against them. He had a sense of honor and civility that he was nowhere close to reaching. Bluestreak had shot him in the faceplates – yeah, he'd gotten understandably pissed at that – but after the whole thing had been cleared up he'd been quick to forgive. He'd admitted to them that he sympathized with the Autobots after reading the report on the Praxus Slaughter. It was because of that report he'd started sympathizing with them in the first place, the reason he had started questioning Shockwave and the Decepticon cause, and the reason he'd been wounded and left for dead here.

Bryce considered. Grimwing seemed a bit volatile to him, but at the same time he was very sensible and intelligent. The number of humans he could name who could forgive a shotgun round to the face could be counted on one hand.

"If you can keep him under control –"

Grimwing emitted a low growl, optics narrowing. This tiny being still refused to trust him, even after the Prime had very kindly argued in his defense?

"If you can keep him under control, and ensure his good behavior while on the team, I don't see any reason for him not to stay. I'll need to take it up with the five stars, of course. He _is_ unaligned, but I think you'll deal with that. I think they'll agree that your forces are heavily outnumbered against the 'Cons. One Pred isn't a huge difference in rank numbers, but it's better than nothing."

The Primeling resisted gusting a sigh of relief. And here he'd thought Bryce was going to be difficult about this.

"Thank you."

"He _does_ still need to be debriefed about the situation though. Not just with the 'Cons, but the rules Fowler and the five stars set up about civilian/military interaction with your species. I'll handle that for you. I'm...not sure how you intend to keep a massive metal bird under the radar if you take him out in the field, especially if it's into a town or city. Ratchet and Prowl's coinciding reports say that Predacons can't take vehicle forms like your friends."

Infernus grimaced. He hadn't even considered that. But that was a good point – what if they needed him? There was no way Ratchet was going to let a handicapped Thunderbird onto the field, but what about once his wing was fixed? What then? He was pretty sure they couldn't just throw a tarp over him or something. Grimwing was just too big. Infernus himself had gone out on the field in Lerna without any major issues, but that was because it had been lacking humans and it had been dark out, and that had still been insanely risky.

"Yeeaah...heh. Um. I'll...I'll think of something. Maybe. Probably." He looked down, tapped two digits together and mumbled: "Hopefully..."

"Alright, then. Dismissed."

Turning, both Predacons left the hangar. Infernus heard Bryce clear his throat loudly and thus stopped, using a hand to bar Grimwing's path. The Avioid halted obediently. There was a flicker of faint confusion in his yellow optics.

"He'll debrief you on all the rules, Grim." he said quietly. "Won't be too long. Not too complicated stuff to follow. I'd tell you or I'd have Fowler tell you, but I think Bryce would feel better if he told you himself. He's a little...uppity like that. Also, pretty sure he's the guy in charge here. Rank is everything with human military people. Trust me on that." He quickly eyed Bryce out of the corner of his optics before telling him over short-band radio:

* _Pretty please don't kill him either. He's more a cold jerk than Fowler is, but he's kinda the reason we even have a place to stay. Last thing we need right now on top of everything else is problems with the military. Okay?_ *

Grimwing bowed his helm in acknowledgement. He may not like the man personally, but he was showing his new clan generosity by providing them shelter and resources. He would at least try to tolerate him – for Infernus's sake if no one else's. He was proving himself to be noble, kind-sparked, protective as a territorial Canipid, and very people savvy, too. All good traits for a Predacon Prime to have in his opinion. Shame that his predecessor had passed though. He would've liked to meet him.

Nodding, the Primeling left the hangar with a short, friendly request to come find him when he was done. Grimwing watched the Draconian amble off until he was out of sight. And so, rather reluctantly, he turned his attention to the still-suspicious and cold General Bryce.

* * *

Infernus returned to the hangar and was promptly pounced from behind. Taken unawares, the Primeling yelped and instinctively grabbed the pouncer, flinging him over his shoulder and onto the ground.

The blue and grey figure emitted a whimpering moan from the floor where he lay flat on his backstrut. He blinked. Well, now he just felt bad.

"Oh, Primus – sorry, Blue! I didn't know it was you!" he apologized hastily. "Are you alright? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"'M okay." Bluestreak managed as he sat up, gingerly massaging his helm. He accepted his sibling's extended hand and let him help him to his pedes. "Where's Grimwing?"

"Bryce is debriefing him. He should be back in a bit. I just hope I don't hear about him getting attacked by a Thunderbird in the next ten minutes. Guy's, like, _super_ crazy defensive of me."

He looked around and noted that everyone was starting to cluster around him and ask what had happened while he'd been over there. Bryce hadn't given him any flak had he? He assured them Bryce had actually been pretty level-headed about the whole Grimwing situation. Their Avioid team mate was now being debriefed by Bryce as to all the rules and being brought up to speed about the Decepticon infestation. He was most pleased that Arcee was still further warming to him. He hoped that in time any of her residual mistrust and ice would fade entirely. They'd gotten off to a bit of a rocky start even before her attack on him.

From the catwalks, the humans smiled and waved at him, and smiled back.

"So our bird's turning into a bit of a body guard for you, huh?" Fowler grinned, leaning onto the railing.

Against his will he thought back on Grimwing's flinch at his words of "he'd never hurt anybody." A cold chill seemed to sweep over him, similar to the strange chill he'd felt in the cavern where Optimus had died. Something had been in there that had made him uncomfortable, and a suspicion was slowly budding in his mind almost against his will. He didn't want to believe the courteous Avioid would...but the guilt in his optics when he'd flinched would explain that reaction, and electricity was naturally hard to control...

He shook his helm to clear it of such dark thoughts. Grimwing had said he would explain after he was done with Bryce. He would hold him to that.

"Yeah, pretty much." he agreed. He turned his attention to the little brainiac who'd helped find Grimwing. "Hey, Raf. You got any more 'monsters' for us to hunt down?"

"I've actually been with the others most of the day. Military's arranging stuff for us to stay on site till our families find a house. So I haven't really had the chance. Most I was doing was looking at some of the well known monsters related to Hercules myths (because a lot of those were named creatures and had at least vague areas where they lived) and reading into a few of them. Sorry."

Infernus's helm tilted to the side. "Which ones _did_ you read into?"

"Hind of Ceryneia, Erymanthian Boar, Cretan Bull, the Chimera, aand Cerberus." Raf counted on his fingers as he spoke. "But unfortunately none of those except the Chimera had its location narrowed down to one place. All the others kind of just...either they were never written down or they wandered so much they prevented a single location from being used. I mean, one of 'em supposedly is the guard dog to the Underworld, so I'm not even sure about that one. Chimera was in Lycia in Asia Minor. Doesn't narrow it down further though, so I don't know how useful that really is. That's a pretty big area."

The Primeling smiled. "Thanks anyway. Besides, if we can't narrow it down I kinda doubt the 'Cons will."

He could've sworn he heard Alpha Trion cough ' _monitoring_ ' under his breath. He was torn between rolling his optics and groaning in realization, electing in the end to perform neither action. But how was he supposed to compete with Shockwave and his...what, ID chips or something? That one-opticed wacko could find them easily whereas he and his team would have to search with a fine-toothed comb to find those Predacons. How could he beat that? Luckily (perhaps conveniently) his mind was drawn to other things as the tell-tale thuds of a Cybertronian's pedefalls met his audials.

"Prime." Grimwing bowed his helm in greeting.

Infernus went over to him. Though he said nothing, his optics held a silent request for answers. The Avioid imperceptibly nodded, the same guilt from earlier briefly flashing in his yellow gaze. Grimwing brushed past him and requested Ratchet open one of his groundbridges into his cavern home, supplying coordinates for him to use. The medic gave him an odd look but complied, and the necessary wormhole opened.

"Come." said Grimwing simply, motioning to Infernus. He quickly vanished inside.

"Um...be back in a bit?" the Primeling hazarded. Then he, too, vanished into the portal.

* * *

Grimwing was equal parts pleased to be back in his home and horrified of having to explain to the Prime about his past acts. Primes, per their title of being chosen avatars of Primus himself, protected life no matter the form it took. That he was going to have to tell him that he had ended five lives in the past...his wrath might be swift – and entirely justified.

"Don't know how you stand being in the dark all the time." the young Prime commented. To Grimwing's hypersensitive optics his white, fire-accented frame was easy to pick out in conjunction with his bright blue optics. In the dark, he rather resembled some young spirit protector. "Seems kinda gloomy if you ask me."

"Bright lights tend to cause small amounts of damage to my optical fibers. Not massive amounts, but the damage is cumulative. I thus avoid being in regions of massive photonic emission, which unfortunately your hangar has via the artificial lighting. I may need a means to counteract that. I cannot ask you to live in near total darkness on my behalf."

"Maybe Ratchet can make you an optic visor or something? To dim the lights?"

"Perhaps."

He silently went about collecting his copper art pieces – things he'd done to relax himself before slipping into deep stasis. Despite not looking he could feel the Prime's bright blue gaze watching him closely. He idly noticed one of the art pieces was missing.

"Grim, why'd you bring me here?" Infernus asked softly.

The Avioid stood back up to his full height. His entire frame sagged, a sigh escaping his vocalizer. He did not turn to face the Prime.

"You said to General Bryce that I was too civil to harm anyone. You saw me react to that, as did he. I brought you here to prove your assumption to be...flawed. I...I only ask you not be too harsh with me."

Wordlessly he directed his yellow optics to the five human-sized indentations in the stone. Almost instantaneously he felt Infernus's field flare with glyphs for horror, shock, sadness, pain, and disbelief. Grimwing braced himself for an infuriated tirade, one he felt he deserved. He had never forgiven himself for those mistakes. They still haunted him hundreds, even thousands of years later. Their cries still echoed in his audials, and their faces invaded his dreams.

A growl escaped the Prime's vocalizer. "What. Happened?" he demanded.

Grimwing hung his helm in guilt.

"It was never my intent to kill them, Prime. Believe me. After contact was lost with my adoptive tribe, I did not wish to be found. I knew from Shockwave that doses of electricity can cause damage to memory centers in Cybertronians, so I assumed the same was true for humans. I...lightning is not easy to control, and I did not realize that humans are far more sensitive to electrical discharge. I admit I am no scientist. It...it took me a few attempts to perfect the electro-shock treatment. These poor souls you see before you are the result of my ignorance, inexperience, and unchecked power. I had not the spark to leave them to the elements, and so they stay here, reminders to me to never to repeat my mistakes."

For upwards of five minutes not a sound escaped the young Prime other than forced calming air intakes. Grimwing dared not say any more even as his spark demanded he say that that these mistakes haunted him night and day. He gave in to it.

"Prime...they haunt me still. Even in death my mistakes torment me. I know no peace from them. Please believe me. I never meant to kill them." the Avioid added quietly.

Still the Prime said nothing. Just when he was about to give up hope of forgiveness (forgiveness he felt he did not deserve) the young white mech let out a soft sigh. His field calmed. His frame, before now tense, relaxed. A sort of...serene, sorrowful acceptance permeated the cool cavern air.

"I know you didn't mean to kill them, Grimwing. Like I said, you're too civil to do that sort of thing intentionally. But that doesn't change the fact that five humans died before you managed to figure out the correct dosage. Five dead."

"I am sorry, Infernus. Should you no longer desire me to be a part of your clan because of my acts, I will leave without protest."

He met the Prime's blue optics then. There was pain in them, great pain and sadness, and a flicker of justified anger, but he took startled note of a sad, accepting little smile on his lip-plates. He approached and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"No, Grimwing. We need you, and frankly you need us. You turned your back on the Decepticons because you found out how violent they are. You lost your wing in the process and nearly died. You've been alone for thousands of years, barely getting the energy you need to live in consequence. I don't hate you for what happened if that's what you think. Upset? Yes, but I know you didn't mean to kill anyone. You just didn't know how sensitive humans really are, and it took you a few tries to find the right dosage. But the dozens of other humans who've found you _haven't_ died. Their memories were messed with. That's it. Their deaths weren't really in vain if they managed to save all those others."

The Avioid let a single tear slip from his optics in gratitude, relief, and happiness. He felt as if a mountain had been lifted off his shoulders.

"Thank you. For...for understanding. If there is anything I can do to make up for my mistakes, you need only say so."

Infernus managed a more genuine smile at him, telling him that that wasn't necessary. That had been Optimus's reasoning: one life in exchange for five more. It wasn't the best bargain ever, but it was better than everyone winding up dead. Besides, mistakes were a part of life. They happened. He'd made more than a few himself. He'd probably keep making mistakes because he was still learning the ropes of commanding. Not even a Prime was perfect. Pit, _he_ certainly wasn't.

"And hey, you mentioned wanting to meet Optimus. Technically you already have and you're talkin' to him right now." he added. "And if you think that's too weird, you could always visit his grave. Ratchet and I have the coordinates. You wouldn't get a response that way, but still. Maybe you might? I dunno."

Grimwing's frown was replaced by a smile of his own. He bowed his helm respectfully, thanking him once more. This young mech was truly a Prime if he could find it in himself to forgive his lethal mistakes. And thanks to his words he understood he had been speaking with his predecessor the whole time. Perhaps...perhaps it had been he who had convinced Infernus that the past was in the past and there was no changing it – he could do naught but accept and move on. He knew very little how the Matrix worked, but Predacons themselves held deeply encoded spiritual beliefs.

Infernus jerked his helm towards the tunnel exit. "Come on. Leave the dead to rest. They've tortured you enough already. You ask me, that's punishment enough for your mistakes."

The Prime raised a hand to his helm and asked Ratchet for a 'bridge to Yosemite. Grimwing eyed him curiously. That was not where their home was.

[Why exactly?]

He did not respond aloud, using private frequency to reply back: [Let's just say Grim may want to apologize for...something he did in the past. Not just to me, but to him, too. Technically it took place while he was still alive. And...I promised him I'd visit whenever I had the chance. Now seems like a good time, since we got nothing going on right now.]

The old medic obliged him, and together the two Predacons stepped in.

* * *

Grimwing looked around at the unfamiliar landscape, happy he did not have to shield his optics from the bright sun. That alone told him he was no longer in his home territory. It somewhat resembled his mountainous home, but oh – it was tenfold more beautiful. Mountains arched their crooked backs high into the star-studded night sky and trees far taller than him stretched their limbs into the heavens, towering over him like stationary, leafy combiners. The music of night creatures danced on the winds in a primal chorus.

In front of him loomed a massive rocky feature – a lone mountain, separated from the rest but standing tall and proud, gazing out over the landscape.

His yellow optics widened. "Where...?"

"Yosemite National Park in California, the base of El Capitan. It was...one of his favorite places." Infernus admitted quietly. "Or so Ratchet said. I didn't know."

He looked at the Prime. "Is this where...?"

"Yeah. Right over there."

A clawed hand pointed to the base of the feature. Grimwing followed it, and his sensitive optics pinpointed something strange on one of the nearby rocks – an old cyber-glyph burned into the stone, ancient and rarely in use anymore. He did not know what it translated to. The winged dashes coming off the spiral told him it was highly spiritual, as wings connected with flight and freedom, and the spiral itself symbolized many things in Earthen and Cybertronian culture: surrender, emergence, and union with greater cosmic powers. Truly befitting.

And so he made his way over, kneeling before where the ground was faintly disturbed. He felt suddenly as if he was being watched – not malevolently, but benevolently. He smiled. Did the Prime have a connection with this place, having visited many times? Stories did say that a spark's energy could become tied to a place after a time if the mech or femme visited and stayed in a place often enough. Or was he simply watching from beyond, or even though the optics of his successor?

"You chose well, paladin." murmured the Avioid. " _Hózhǫ́ náhásdlį́į́._ I will guard him like Tsoodzil guards the land. It is the least I can do in repayment for his kindness. His kindness – and yours."

A warm breeze swept by him inexplicably, sweetened by the smell of blooming wildflowers. Grimwing shuttered his optics and drank in the sensation. He swore he heard a voice on the wind say " _Thank you_." He did not see the white Draconian mech behind him smiling softly. But he did see it when he rose and turned to face him.

"Ready to head back?" Infernus asked.

"Yes. I've said my peace to him. Thank you."

The Prime cocked his helm to one side inquisitively. "What for? I thought we agreed to put your past behind you."

"No, no. Not for that." Grimwing assured. "For allowing me to visit this place." He gestured around with him his arms. "It is a great honor to be allowed to visit the tomb of a Prime."

"Why wouldn't I? You're one of us. Any member of Team Prime is allowed here because, if you ask me, I think the poor guy's gonna get a little bored and or tired of listening to me all the livelong day, half of which involves me completely and utterly _panicking_ the spark outta me. I...I think he'd appreciate being able to listen to someone else, and to be fair this is a little less awkward than you guys talking to me in order to get to him." admitted Infernus, rubbing his neck cables a bit shyly. "I just...I dunno. That would just feel really super weird?"

Grimwing managed a small chuckle. He briefly laid a hand on the Prime's shoulders.

"Come. Let us return to the living. Leave your predecessor to his sleep. He is not going anywhere."

* * *

Arcee turned from her conversation with Jack the instant she heard the groundbridge swirl open. Grimwing and Infernus stepped out, the former looking content and as if a mountain had been lifted from his shoulders. She hadn't realized until now he had been rather somber and, well, grim – no pun intended. She had a guess as to what had been dragging him down. She remembered the headstones carved with the plea for forgiveness.

"Where've you two been?" she demanded. "Why'd you guys go to Grimwing's cave a second time?"

"We were merely collecting a few of my belongings and...settling the past." the Avioid admitted. "Both goals were successful in their own right. You needn't worry. I will say that one of my belongings was missing. Do you happen to know where it might be?"

"If by 'belongings' you mean the strange pieces of copper metal with the terrestrial and Cybertronian glyphs and images on them, Arcee gave me one she collected." Ratchet said from his console. Without turning he held up the item in question. "Quite interesting. I never would've suspected a Predacon could be so inherently gifted in art. I read a few research reports before the War, but to see if confirmed...A hobby by chance? Or a talent? What were you using to carve them? Arcee, Bluestreak, and Ultra Magnus never observed any carving tools."

"Hobby that turned out to be oddly relaxing and useful to me. My talons occasionally were used to carve them, or simply the digits of my bipedal form. A good way to keep the foremost sharp in case of danger. And a means of remembering any stories my tribe or visitors had told me in the past."

Ratchet paused imperceptibly in his reading. That was interesting. He treated the copper cylinders and spheres almost like data pads. Did Grimwing simply not know how to write, and so resorted to pictographs instead? Of course, it had been postulated that Predacons perhaps had had a written language despite no clear evidence being found, but it was assumed that it was not so very different than the one modern day mechs used. Were pictographs their written language? Was this perhaps just a creative quirk and no more complicated than that?

"Ah." He felt the Predacon take the cylinder from him and thus he lowered his hand back down. He went on with his reading. Rafael hadn't had much luck with more powerful Greek monsters, so he was casting the search a little further afield – specifically Europe.

"Perhaps I could assist you, healer? I do know of some of the physical descriptions and behavior of other Predacons. I would be pleased to know if some of my kin still yet live, even if they are still allied with the Decepticons."

The medic invited him over with a wave of his hand.

"You guys have fun with the research. I'll take watch outside." Infernus said.

Transforming, the Primeling trotted outside, taking up a position off to the side of the hangar's entrance. Grimwing watched him for a moment before turning his focus back on the medic. He remembered his suggestion.

"Healer Ratchet?"

"Yes?"

"Is there...any way you could craft an optic visor for me?"

Ratchet's helm turned to face him, blue optics staring at him. "Yes. My exam did reveal your optics are hypersensitive to light. Normally diamond is used for such visors."

Fowler audibly sounded as if he'd just choked.

"But seeing as diamond is not as common on this planet as it is in Cybertron, we'll have to compensate with a substance of equal transparency but less hardness. Zircon might work...wouldn't be as sturdy as a diamond visor, but it would serve the intended purpose. Colored Zircon would work the best so long as it's a dark shade."

Fowler's choke died. "I'll have a chat with the requisition office. Zircon isn't super expensive, but it still costs a bit. But if it means helping Grim...I think Uncle Sam can spare some cash. Not exactly going to be helpful to us if he winds up blind as a bat."

Grimwing and Ratchet would've argued with him that bats weren't totally blind, but chose not to.

"Thank you. That would be most helpful." thanked the Avioid.

"In the morning though. Getting late." The federal agent stifled a yawn. "I think the on-site office is closed down."

The Avioid nodded and went back to his task of aiding the medic.

* * *

 **Author's Note: ArdentAspen over on DA drew a concept thingy of Grimwing! Check it out! :D**

 **ardentaspen. deviantart art/Grimwing-600994041**


	18. Chapter 18: Black Hound of Destiny

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 18

* _Note to Kaleia: Fowler's "drunk/crazy sleep talk" will be showing up every now and again. I'd personally like to see Infernus and Grim react to that. Or even Blue. God, Blue would either be confused or fall to the floor laughing like an idiot. xD "Bleunanafish!"_

 _Bulkhead and Wheeljack are the two being sent to investigate the so-called "danger" creatures_ _–_ _i.e. ones that have actually harmed native life forms for one reason or another. Right now they're busy investigating some Meso-American creatures like Ahuizotl and Quetzalcoatl._

* * *

Fowler's requisition order of Zircon came within seven days – and Ratchet instantly set to with the crystals the very moment they were set at his disposal.

Those seven days had been thankfully lacking in Decepticon activity, leaving the Autobots and their human allies with some much needed recovery time, and some time for their newest arrival to further acclimate. Such an ambient familiarization was made rather...interesting thanks to a certain young Asian girl and her explosively-oriented Wrecker friend. Grimwing learned during that time to never trust Miko or Wheeljack when they had spare time on their hands, as trouble tended to follow them around like a second shadow. But he took to the energetic human well in spite of her somewhat intimidating energy and her off-putting liking of fighting. She had spirit in her. He admired that.

The Avioid's task of aiding Ratchet in identification also went on during the wait. And it turned out he did not know as many as he thought he had. Only a handful struck any chord of recognition within him, and these were flagged for later investigation. Surprisingly, the mythological monsters he recognized were more minor ones, not famous ones like the Greek Hind or Cerberus or the Asiatic Garuda. Raf admitted that might be helpful – even so-called "minor" beasts were still dangerous and powerful, and the 'Cons might not waste resources on finding them or their remains. Grimwing seemed far more interested in locating his rival, Skyrender. He, Rafael, and Ratchet scoured the internet for rumors of another Thunderbird tirelessly. None were found.

Those seven days also permitted the young Prime to further recover from his earlier inflicted wounds. Neal paid the hangar regular visits to talk with him, Grimwing, or Mark (looking over Grimwing's injuries as well) or to give Infernus a light soaking of his strange sweet-tangy oil. Ratchet was interested in the substance and wanted to know if he could possibly have the ingredients of it since it was so effective. But like Infernus, the old medic was playfully denied. By the time the sixth day rolled around, the oil was no longer needed – his welds had resolved themselves to unsightly but faint scarring all across his body. Adrian and Katelyn popped by soon after that, saying that if wanted them to they could try to smooth them out with their detail buffers or even paint in some designs to cover them up. Infernus jokingly asked if they couldn't do both.

He didn't know till the following day that they'd taken the joking suggestion literally, smoothing out the welds as best as they could before concealing them with odd symbols that Adrian called runes and glyphs – something straight out of the _Witcher_ series. He kind of appreciated the subtle nod to his team's present occupation of "monster hunting." Man, if only he had Witcher powers though...

Oh, and the ones they used?

They represented fire.

* * *

Neal and Mark stood outside, leaning their backs against the hangar. The latter balanced precariously on one booted foot, the other planting vertically on the wall behind him. Somehow, through some means, he managed to stay perfectly upright without even the slightest wobble. Jack and Miko stood at their sides – the older teen boy calmly, the girl bouncing and cheering at the sight all four humans observed. If Wheeljack and Bulkhead were not out scouting some Decepticon activity in Central America, they would've enjoyed the sight.

Infernus was locked in a friendly spar with both Prowl and Ultra Magnus. Prowl wanted to see and take note of any and all combat differences this new beast form provided. Ultra Magnus was more concerned about strategy; and something else Ratchet had pointed out to him in hushed whisper one evening when the Primeling was away on one of his nightly prowls around the compound: his more volatile emotions. He wanted to teach Infernus how to use that as an advantage, rather that let it become a hindrance – one that might get him killed.

To say that Ultra Magnus and Prowl had their hands full would have been an understatement. The highly logical, by-the-book mechs were having incredible amounts of trouble trying to keep up with the Primeling's erratic attacks and seemingly random strategies. But that was actually a good thing. Being predictable was a death sentence. Being unpredictable was a life-saver. If the enemy couldn't predict your movements, they couldn't compensate.

Prowl fired off some low-powered shots to try and draw his attention off Magnus so he could strike. From the way he was fighting, it certainly looked like his aggressive Predacon coding was starting to take over. He was growling and his movements were more sudden, like the way an Earth animal would lash out if it felt cornered. That was the point of this: to trigger that coding but be there to help him make use of it.

Ultra Magnus lunged in from behind with his blades, but Infernus heard him. Snarling, his spear-tipped tail soundly connected with the mech's torso with such force that he skidded back a dozen feet. The Primeling whipped around and spat a stream of fire in his direction, forcing him to flee. Prowl tried to leap at Infernus's back and shove his sheathed blades into his back. He succeeded getting onto his back – only his victory was short lived. Infernus, sensing the unwanted passenger, suddenly rolled forward, slightly to one side...and straight onto his back, crushing Prowl with his own mass. He lay there, stunned but relatively unharmed.

' _Rather creative._ ' Prowl admitted to himself. Painfully effective, too.

The black and white tactician was appeased for the rather embarrassing defeat moments later. By the time the Primeling had finished the crush roll and was rounding for another go, the Commander was there, pointing a sword to his lower neck whilst holding a glowing gun barrel to his helm.

"Dead." said Ultra Magnus.

Infernus growled before shifting out of his beast form. He looked annoyed. This very same mistake had happened before when he'd stupidly rushed in to try to grab the Star Saber from the mountain. And here he was, a Prime with the tactical knowledge of his predecessors – and he'd still done it again. Rookie mistake. He was supposed to be better than that.

"Never let your focus stray. Just because one enemy is unable to fight for a time does not mean they cannot rejoin the fray later." said Ultra Magnus. "By losing focus on a target you open a window for another enemy to strike. Lose focus on a Decepticon and they will back-stab you with no warning and no remorse. A back-stab from Megatron or Starscream could prove lethal. You have to be able to focus on multiple targets at once. Multi-tasking your senses during a fight will save your life. Practice that whenever you can."

The Primeling's annoyance faded as he listened to him. Now, his expression was one of a boy eager to learn.

"Yes, sir." he said.

Ultra Magnus nodded. "Very good. Dismissed."

Infernus helped Prowl back to his pedes with an apology and a followed request for him to go see Ratchet. He hadn't meant to physically hurt him like that. It had sort of just...happened. A reversion to instinct. Kind of. In all the ways that counted. He didn't look hurt other than looking sore, but he'd better have Ratchet look him over just in case.

Prowl nodded and made his way inside, admitting that, while sore, he wasn't receiving any damage notifications. But he appreciated his caution.

And by heading for the hangar he got bowled into by an excited Bluestreak. Infernus resisted the urge to snicker. Poor Prowl was having a bad day so far. Twice getting knocked around or generally struck by large forces. Luck was not on his sibling's side today.

"Guys! Guys, guys, guys! Raf and Ratchet found us another possible Predacon! I mean, they're kinda certain it might be one. Not totally, but there's a chance! Even got a live sighting of it on this weird conspiracy site Raf found! Some creepy looking black dog in north Wales. Looks like somethin' straight from the Pit! Freaky as scrap!"

The Primeling's attention diverted in a flash. "Show me."

Bluestreak eagerly waved him, Prowl, and Magnus inside.

* * *

"What'd you guys find? Blue said it was some kinda freaky black dog from Wales?"

Raf's head whipped back to nod vigorously at him as Infernus drew nearer Ratchet's console.

"It's called the Gwyllgi; the 'Dog of Darkness' or 'Black Hound of Destiny' by the Welsh. Apparently it's seen pretty often on lonely roads at night – once every month or so. Favorite haunt is the Nant y Garth pass near Llandegla in Denbighshire, but it's been spotted farther south, too. It's some kind of evil fairy dog according to lore. Some say it's basically harmless while others say it's a portent of ill-fate; i.e. you meet this thing on the road, bad stuff'll go down soon after. Also might be the related to the Welsh Cŵn Annwn – the Hounds of Death."

"Oh, charmin'." Neal deadpanned. "We're goin' after hell hounds now, are we? What's next? Werewolves and vampires?"

Here the boy brought up an image on his laptop, it's monitor being linked to Ratchet's console. Appearing on the screen was a pitch black dog the size of a mountain lion or panther, big and muscular looking, very wolfish in its appearance. Two sets of glowing red eyes arranged in rows pierced the darkness around it. Shadows wrapped around its shimmering black body like a cloak, only half of its body visible through it. This wasn't a picture of the beast itself, but an artist's rendition Ratchet clarified for the onlookers. No one had ever managed to get a clear image of it. This had been created by a sketch artist within the last few weeks from an eyewitness.

"Sketch artist? As in the case of a crime or attack?" Jack asked. He didn't like where this was suddenly going. The looks on Mark's and Neal's faces showed a similar dislike.

"What happened?" Prowl demanded.

"Some truck driver found out recently never to try and approach it." Raf explained. "Guy got too close to try to get a picture and it lashed out at him. After it was done it just...disappeared. Like, turned invisible. That's what the report said. His buddy called the emergency line his injuries were so bad. Looked like he got mauled by a mountain lion or a bear or something. He's gonna be okay, but they had to amputate one of his arms it got so messed up. Weird thing is, this is the first ever reported attack. Up till now it's left people alone."

Grimwing growled. This thing had the bearings to attack an innocent human just trying to snap a picture of it? That was not provocation of any kind. Humans were naturally curious about things they had never seen before or things they did not understand. Granted he himself had not wanted to be photographed for his own reasons, as he did not want to be found or cause a general panic among the natives, but he had never attacked to make that desire known. He had made that request clear through body language and/or speech.

Still though. He saw no Decepticon crest on the Gwyllgi's body. Either it was unaligned and had removed it itself, or else the wounded human had not seen it in time.

Ratchet continued:

"Now, that's not the only thing we managed to find. That's simply a live sighting we found that merits investigation. While Rafael's investigated this particular beast, I've been doing research of my own alongside creating Grimwing's visor."

"Like?" Jack prompted.

"Such as: An oil drilling team recently came across a peculiar find. One of their drills struck what looked like the jaw of a shark – but it was obviously metallic. Possibly the remains of a Leviacon or else a Sharkticon. What made it strange to me and the finders was that this jaw was found in El Paso, Texas of all places – hundreds of miles from any ocean. I've also uncovered a distinct Energon signal in Scotland's highlands, deep underground. We could definitely add more to our present stockpile. We might also find another fossil there, as we now have reason to believe that these deposits were guarded by Predacon clones. Luckily the Decepticons have not decided to converge on the location yet."

"That's three separate missions, Ratchet." Arcee noted. "Do we even have enough 'Bots to spare, with Wheeljack and Bulk not here?"

The medic eyed Infernus a bit hesitantly. "I...believe Infernus might be well enough for him to partake in one of the three missions."

The young mech could've squealed his delight, and frankly a little noise of happiness did escape his vocalizer. Ratchet was finally giving him a clean bill of health! He could finally get out and help again! Freaking finally! Oh, to get out and fly again! Pit, just to be out in the open again, to explore!

"However..." Ratchet held a finger up.

He groaned. Of course. He just had to go and put conditions on this, didn't he? Just had to ruin his fun.

"However, due to El Paso's population and the oil field being undoubtedly manned in some way, or at least it having some form of surveillance, I would advise you going either to Scotland's highlands or north Wales. You can take someone with you if you want to or go alone – I highly recommend a companion if you go to Wales. The Gwyllgi may not be the largest Predacon to date, but it is highly aggressive and agile. From the report it may be implied it is a natural cloaker as well. I'm counting on you to be sensible about whichever you choose."

"I'll take the Wales mission, then." Infernus decided after a moment. "The 'Cons might – just a theory – be following our strategy of looking for still live Predacons to conserve resources. Shockwave may not have the same level of _stuff_ he needs to clone multiple beasts like he did during the War. You wanna beat a Pred, you have a Pred fight it. And maybe Grim could tag along, too. Y'know, so he can get out and see more of the world? Should be sparse enough there people wise that we should both be okay. And I wouldn't be going alone. We can leave the Scotland one for later, once we get this Gwyllgi thing straightened out."

He turned a bit suddenly to the black and white tactician.

"Actually – Prowl, you wanna tag along? You haven't gone out on a mission yet."

Prowl nodded. "You stand a much better chance in a fight if I am there to provide insight on the creature. Cloakers are troublesome enough to deal with, but this one seems even more troublesome than usual due to its aggression and speed."

Infernus smirked: "You could've just said yes."

The tactician did not smirk back...but Infernus swore he saw the faintest flicker of a genuine smile ghost across Prowl's lip-plates. Was Prowl finally learning to loosen up a little?

"Want me to go with him, Ratchet?" Mark offered. "Just to keep him outta trouble?"

"Hey! Come on! Seriously! Why does everyone keep assuming I'm gonna do something stupid?!" Infernus snapped, hurt. It wasn't until afterwards he noticed the private's smirk and the twinkle in his eyes.

Mark laughed: "I'm kidding, bro. Calm down. I know you won't try anything, like, super insane. Not with Prowl around. He'd give you an earful. Doc would, too."

Ratchet managed a wry, somewhat admitting smile and said that wouldn't be a problem. Honestly, having two Predacons, an Autobot, and Mark try to capture or terminate the Gwyllgi was a bit excessive in his opinion. But he supposed one could never be too careful with a creature this hostile. A well-aimed shot from Mark's rifle or from Grimwing might damage its cloaking mechanism long enough for it to be dealt with. If they could get the shot, of course...

"Try to bring the creature back online if you would, Prime. We might possibly glean information from it about others like it or else more general intelligence. But if it proves too much hassle, proves too violent or too uncooperative, eliminate it and bring the body here for disposal. We cannot allow Shockwave to claim it as a battlefield resource, nor can we let him revive the beast as a clone." said Ultra Magnus grimly.

The Primeling returned the request with a grave, dark nod. He was hoping it wouldn't come to that.

"Alright, then."

"Oh! And Grimwing, you shouldn't have to worry about having any eye trouble out there. I did a weather check and it's cloudy around north Wales right now. Scattered rain showers, too. You should be okay." Raf added. "I dunno whether or not you'll get wet, Mark. Just a heads-up."

Yanking down on the control lever for the groundbridge, Ratchet opened up another wormhole to the general location of the Gwyllgi's first ever reported attack. In a rush of sound the wormhole diligently opened. Infernus transformed and let Mark clamber onto his back once more, rifle slung over his should just like before. Prowl and Grimwing joined him at his sides.

"G'luck out there, fellas." said Neal. "Keep an eye on the _yázhí_ for me, would you, Grim? Make sure this Gwyl-thing don't give him any extra welds. Your good doctor has enough on his plate now without having to sew the kid back together again."

Grimwing assured him no harm would befall the Prime so long as he guarded him. Neal wasn't the only one to look reassured at his words. The quartet made to leave, but a voice interrupted them, making them pause right on the event horizon:

"Smoke, if you need an assist – don't hesitate to call one of us. 'Bot or human. We're all here for you." Arcee reminded him.

"Totally! Mobile shout outs all the way!" Miko agreed. She gave him a thumbs up gesture and a wicked grin. "Now go give that bad dog some obedience lessons!"

The white dragon's blue eyes glittered anew with fiery determination. He gave a sharp bob of the head in her direction. Then, with a flick of his tail, he vanished.

* * *

Rafael's weather check proved accurate, for which Grimwing was thankful. The instant they came out of the portal, light rain began to tickle the hides of the metal aliens. Luckily it was only a misting of water and not enough to drench the human on Infernus's back; it was cold enough to make him shiver though.

Prowl looked around, analyzing everything. It would probably be a good idea to get under cover somewhere. Up here they were exposed. The only problem there was that the hillside above this particular stretch of the Nant y Garth pass was devoid of shelter aside from a few clusters of thick-boughed trees dotted around and the occasional little farmhouse or barn. There was a very low chance they were unoccupied since domestic animals roamed the hillside near those structures. In the distance, the spires of a small church peeked over a hillside opposite them. They would have to be careful. Inhabitants might spot them.

Mark shielded his eyes from the persistent drizzle and looked around himself. Weird. No place this thing might hide out without being caught.

"I'm not seeing any caves or abandoned buildings. Where's this thing hide out?" he wondered.

"A valid question. As of yet I do not have enough information to form a theory." said Prowl noncommittally.

* _Well, the public report says the attack took place on the road, not on a hillside. Says it's that-a-way._ * Infernus pointed his snout away from the nearby settlement and towards the open road that led deeper into the countryside.

"The scene of the attack will offer more data..." admitted the tactician cautiously. "But there's a risk of civilian drivers seeing you and Grimwing as they commute. Your color stands out starkly, Prime. My vehicle mode is similar to the ones employed by highway patrol officers. Let me scout ahead. Once I deem it clear, you may approach."

Grimwing nodded. "Very well. But as I do not stand out as much, I will remain closer under cover to watch your back, battle-planner. My olfactory sensors will detect the Gwyllgi's foreign sent more easily than yours. If Infernus stays back further, you will have an alert system set up. If we do not manage to incapacitate it, you will at least have fair warning of its coming ambush."

Prowl glanced at the Avioid in mild surprise. He had been thinking the same thing, and Grimwing had taken the words right out of his mouth. Civil, powerful, and well-versed in strategy? They had quite the boon here. Shockwave had been a fool to toss him aside over a simple difference in warfare opinions. That could have been corrected with some rewiring of the processor. And now the mistake was giving the enemy an edge.

"Find a place to shelter out of immediate sight for a short time. I will contact each of you once I have found the attack site, secured it, and gathered enough data to speculate as to the creature's whereabouts."

He recieved three nods in return. Transforming, Prowl drown down the hillside and onto the open road. Carefully, the two beasts followed his path, sticking close to whatever shadows or cover they had and well away from any possible sources of eyewitnesses. Infernus paused after a quarter mile, motioning with his forepaws and helm for Grimwing to stay.

* _I'm still getting the hang of my enhanced senses, Grim. You've had way more practice. Better if Prowl has as early a warning as possible if this thing shows. You stay here. I'll take the closer post. There's not a lot of people on the road. I can take cover behind one one of those rises. You can stay here in this cluster of trees. Should offer some cover for you. 'Kay?_ *

"Understood. A wise strategy. Spirits guard you, Prime." He gave an odd motion to him with his hand before shifting down into his beast form, sheltering amidst the small grove of trees.

Satisfied, Infernus slunk off to assume his post with Mark.

If this thing so much as _scratched_ Prowl or even Grimwing, there'd be hell to pay. It wouldn't live to regret the choice. As far as he cared, if you were stupid enough to tangle with or threaten a dragon...you'd get burned.

* * *

Prowl reached the site of the attack within only a few minutes. Ratchet had been considerate yet cautious enough to deposit them within three miles of the coordinates supplied in the report.

The site did not look anything spectacular at first glance. He knelt to get a better look. There were some nicks and scratches in the smooth asphalt that indicated the Gwyllgi's presence, and some dark splashes nearby that were only too plainly blood patches. The creature's attack had been violent enough that it had left long-term evidence. But the native police force had probably already combed the scene. Time could be saved by having Rafael, er, "acquire" the police reports.

"Rafael? Is there any way for you to hack into the police department responsible for canvasing the scene? Having the report would aid in the investigation."

[Yeah. Might take me a sec though. I don't usually go hacking police departments.]

"Alert me when you have the reports. Have Ratchet send them to me."

He kept looking. There were very faint skid marks a dozen or so feet from the blood and scratches. That showed the driver had stopped suddenly, probably after he had spotted the creature's dark form. Whether or not this attack had occurred at night or in broad daylight could not be determined with what he had. He would need the report for that. If it had occurred during the day that might indicate it was naturally aggressive; if at night, then perhaps the creature had simply been taken unawares and had reacted instinctively as any startled creature would to a threat.

The sheer violence described by Rafael though – the victim's mauled appearance, his arm having to be amputated...

[Got 'em.] Rafael reported. [Ratchet's sending them to you now.]

"Thank you. I have them."

[No problem.]

The pilfered reports were much more detailed and offered the time of day for the attack: night. The truck driver and a rotational passenger had been on a nighttime delivery run from the southern Welsh settlement of Madeley, Staffordshire to Rhuddlan in Denbighshire. He'd hit this section of road at around 2200 hours, having slammed on the brakes after noting a large, dog-like form stalking across the road. Excited at the prospect of seeing the Gwyllgi, he'd hopped out in all innocence to snap a picture of the beast with his cell phone while his buddy manned the truck.

The driver himself was young, only twenty-three or so stellar cycles, (by name of Oliver Yates) and this was his first "graveyard shift." His family had a trucking business that went back quite a ways, and as such his family had had stories and sightings of the Gwyllgi and the much rarer Cŵn Annwn since he'd been a boy. To be the first person to ever snap a picture of the "Black Hound of Destiny" had been too tempting a concept for him. The beast had watched him with its two sets of red eyes as he'd gotten closer, and he'd done everything he could think of to show it that he wasn't an enemy. He'd raised his phone to take the image...

And the next thing he knew he was lying in a pool of blood, agony wracking his body, his friend frantically dialing the emergency line of the nearest settlement.

Prowl hemmed: "Hm. So the creature obviously felt threatened. But maybe it understood the human's intent to photograph it and reacted to try and remove an eyewitness? Definitely shows a desire to stay hidden from the natives. But...why come out of hiding at all then? And so regularly? A lot of other people have seen it in the past and it's never reacted this way so far as we know. Was it the _cell phone_ , the concept of solid evidence? An eyewitness no matter how honest mayn't be believed, but a picture on the other hand..."

He rose. The Gwyllgi's intent during the attack was fairly clear to him now, but he still did not understand why it would risk coming out of hiding so regularly or even where it was hiding to begin with. Neither human had noticed which direction it had gone in since it had apparently turned invisible after the attack: cloaked itself from sight.

Prowl reported his findings to Infernus and Grimwing. Then he offered a suggestion, remembering what Ratchet had mentioned about the sensory capabilities of Predacons.

"Prime, the Gwyllgi may be able to cloak itself from sight, but there is a low chance it can disguise its scent – or has even bothered to, considering only humans have ever seen it and the humans believe it to be a dangerous phantom. That it comes out so often shows it to be strategically bold or perhaps careless. You and Grimwing come down here to get a scent and perhaps we can track it to wherever it is hiding."

[Right. Good idea. Erm...I think you better have Grim do it, though. Like I said, still not so great with my new super-senses.]

"Alright. Grimwing? Could you come to my location? Be careful."

[I will be there shortly, battle-planner.]

He set the line back to idle and transformed – a precaution should a driver pass him. Within the minute he had to tell Grimwing to pause in his approach, as a convoy of police vehicles came down the highway towards Prowl. Silently he cursed. He knew they were here to search for the creature as well, but he'd have to think fast to get them to leave; they were in danger if they stayed. Hand forced, Prowl switched on his hard-light hologram and made it exit the driver's side, after making it assume the garb of a military officer. He'd done some reading into the law enforcement agencies of the world; the highest one in Britain and surrounding regions was MI6. Local police agencies were unlikely to argue with him with this appearance.

The cars pulled up, their lights extinguished. Six officers, four males and two females, exited the cars. Two of them went 'round to the back seats and let out a duo of dogs, fairly large ones that had thick coats of brown, black, and white fur. He held up one hand, being careful to keep the other on his vehicle form to keep the illusion steady.

"Please back away. This investigation has been transferred over to operative of MI6 due to the danger posed."

"What? MI6 you say?" demanded one of the officers, a man, curiously. "First I've heard of –"

"Please leave. The creature is a viable threat to anyone here without proper armaments or training. Your guns are unlikely to do more than agitate it. It could still be in the general area considering the long list of sightings in this vicinity through the years. This attack took place only a few st-days ago. It will not appreciate being tracked by your canines or by any of you."

All six officers shared confused but suddenly wary glances. Their dogs shifted uneasily, whines escaping their throats. He could not tell whether they were eager or frightened or even both.

"You sure? You're just one guy. We could offer a hand or two just to be safe." offered the female officer who appeared to be in charge of the group.

"That is not necessary. Other members of my unit will be joining me shortly. But I will repeat my warning: leave. The creature is dangerous and highly aggressive, and it is highly likely it stalks this general area. Leave and let my unit handle this. You needn't worry further about the investigation."

The officers hesitated. Then the leader female officer nodded: "If you say so, sir. Be careful. You don't want to end up like poor Yates."

"Thank you for your concern. Now please vacate the area. Return to town. We will handle this."

Rather reluctantly, the six officers and their two canines got back in the cars and left. His hologram sighed in relief as he dismissed it. That had been stupidly risky of him to pull, and the MI6 association would have to be cleared and verified with Fowler to prevent suspicion from rising. But at least he'd saved six innocent lives and two native, trained animals.

Almost the instant they were out of visual range he heard a low growl from near him. He transformed, drawing his blades. An invisible force cannoned into his chestplates, knocking him onto the ground. He tried to shove the weight off even as he felt serrated claws rake against his mesh savagely. Mesh rupture alerts bombarded his processor. He felt warm liquid on his chestplates, saw it ooze out from ugly rends. Yet their maker was unseen despite being felt.

And Infernus came, screaming. The youth thundered towards him. He leapt. Claws glowing with heat connected with the invisible force, knocking it off Prowl's chassis with the force of an oncoming train. He took up a defensive position near Prowl. On his back, Mark readied and aimed his rifle, eyes searching for the faintest hint of the Gwyllgi's position. On spotting a faint wisp of smoke or perhaps steam, he fired. An unearthly howl met the three. Electricity from the bullets danced up and down the frame of the invisible target. The air shimmered like a mirage.

Standing there, now visible to all, was a muscular wolf-like dog of pitch black metal about the size of a bear, two sets of glowing red eyes arranged in twin columns glaring at them. A fang maw was arrayed in a viscous growling snarl. Its serrated claws dripped with fresh Energon. On its upper chest was a purple Decepticon crest.

"Gotcha, ugly." said Mark.

With another growl, the Gwyllgi charged the white dragon.


	19. Chapter 19: Recruiting Dark

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 19

* _Note to Kaleia: O-O Now that you bring that one up I wanna involve it. It could very well be a kind of Chimeran or Fuzor_ _–_ _a beast-former that incorporates traits from multiple different animals, and it might be a "danger" creature since it has attacked native life forms. Also, curiously enough, there's a group called the "Devil Hunters" that dedicate themselves to finding it. Might be interesting to involve them somehow, eh?...;)_

 _*Glimpse into the Decepticon side of things here..._

* * *

Prowl did not give the Gwyllgi a chance to draw near. He had not intention of letting it harm his brother and Prime.

Flipping over onto his chestplates and hefting himself to his knees with a grunt of pain, one hand on his bleeding chest, he converted the other hand into a sniper rifle and fired at it, point blank. The shot struck the creature with such force that it sent it tumbling back with a startled, pained yelping sound. There was now a smoking burn on its pro-sternum region. But it did not penetrate its durable black mesh he noted. He should've assumed that. Ratchet's analysis of Infernus showed that Predacon mesh was ten times more durable than even the heftiest Autobot bruiser. They were built to take a beating.

He watched Infernus draw up beside him, snarling. Mark had his assault rifle trained on the presently stunned Predacon across from them. Even now it was stirring, getting back to its fuel-soaked paws. Once the Primeling was sure he could turn his gaze away, he did so. Anger turned to worry in his optics. He let out a strange noise like a whining hiss.

* _Prowl! Are you okay?! Oh gosh...! You're leaking!_ *

"I'm fine, Prime." he reassured him through a grimace. "It's not life-threatening. I'll live."

* _No, you're hurt. Stay down. I can_ _–_ *

Infernus was cut off when a low rumble of thunder boomed across the hills like a portent. Prowl turned when his sensors picked up a distinct charge in the air further back down the road. Lightning split the sky then like a sword slash slicing open a wound, arcing down to a grounding point just beyond the hill. Seconds later came the ear-splitting scream of a bird of prey – a warning and a challenge to the attacker and a cry of hope to the two Autobots. Mark did not turn his gaze but his skin tingled from the sudden charge of energy in the air.

From over the hill came Grimwing, no longer bird but mech, his expression one of virtuous wrath. Prowl and Infernus watched him skid to a halt at the top, watched as he converted his right hand into a vicious crossbow-like weapon with a string of blue-grey energy. The two watched as he pulled the string back, setting it. Electricity danced along his frame until it coalesced into what for all intents and purposes was a lightning bolt nocked like an crossbow bolt. He aimed the weapon. The Gwyllgi, now on its paws, snarled at the newcomer.

"Stand down, brother! You know not what affronts you commit by attacking one of the Prime's clan!" Grimwing bellowed.

The Gwyllgi's snarl only increased in volume. Its four red optics narrowed. A harsh male voice hissed in the native tongue of the Predacons:

" _So the traitor yet lives. And here Shockwave placed such faith in Skyrender's abilities._ "

"I am not a traitor as I am not a sparkless killer! Mass slaughter is not warfare, brother! Killing the innocent is a black deed! There is no honor in it!"

" _Maybe not. Sure is satisfying though. You don't know that because you're too weak to kill. Too soft. You'd have been better off staying in the Allspark with those other weak-minded fools. The Builder brought you back to the living, and this is how you repay him? By turning your back on him and joining the enemy? What, are you too scared to kill and offend the Old One?_ "

"Make no mistake! I am not afraid to kill if it means I defend the lives of my clan and the innocent! If you make one more move against my clan-mates I _will_ fire! And my aim has yet to fail me over four thousand years!"

Mark permitted himself to turn now that Grimwing's gaze was thoroughly locked on the Gwyllgi. His words alone were powerful, and the sight that met him when he turned was awe-inspiring. Piss this guy off and he became the terrifying amalgam of Hawkeye Gough from _Dark Souls_ and the Norse thunder god Thor. The Gwyllgi was an absolute idiot for challenging him like this, wounded and in the open. Whatever the thing's real name was, it was begging to get riddled with lightning bolts (no pun intended) and shot again with guns. Ratchet had been right about the electricity bullets in any case – they did seem to have glitched its invisibility talent. He could only imagine the damage a full-on electrocution from Grim's bolts would do. If he wasn't careful he might end up outright killing it in one go.

" _Let's test that, shall we?_ "

Around the Gwyllgi, the air shimmered. It emitted a low, dangerous growl. Then, like a mirage over desert sands, it vanished. Infernus hissed and coiled himself around Prowl as best he could. The tactician heard air being rapidly drawn into his olfactory sensors as he analyzed. He did not try so; in comparison to a Predacon he might as well have been scent blind. Grimwing's yellow optics narrowed as he too tracked the unseen assailant. It was harder than usual due to the rain washing the smell out of the air; it'd be easier if he had an Energon sample to track from.

The private could do little but use his eyes. With no steam or sparks or anything to use as a guide the creature truly was invisible. Then Infernus reared back. A heat began building that Mark felt.

"Infernus, no! No fire! Bad idea! You wanna set the whole place on fire?!" he said.

The alien youth understood and fell back onto all fours. They heard a scream and Infernus whipped around in time to see the Gwyllgi knock Grimwing to the ground in the same manner as Prowl, the Predacon remaining unseen as it clawed savagely at his chest. Rends like Prowl's quickly formed on his chest but they were not quite so deep. With a growl more befitting of a wolf he shoved the Gwyllgi off. His crossbow collapsed on itself as he transformed. Soon the Thunderbird was battling with what might as well have been a ghost, swiping, slashing, and snapping at thin air erratically.

* _Grim! Hang on!_ *

Infernus bounded over after leaving Mark with Prowl. Engaging this thing hand to hand (or would that be claw to claw?) with Mark on his back was a bad idea. If it leapt it could hurt Mark. And he wasn't about to leave Prowl alone in his current state.

He didn't see anything, but he was getting a very faint whiff from the Gwyllgi. Its scent rounded behind him – and then he felt a weight on his back, felt claws sink into his armor. He roared in pain and aggravation. He did his utmost to shake his passenger. In response the claws merely sunk further in. He roared again when they pierced his mesh like serrated needles. He tried rolling but the Gwyllgi gamely hung on, its claws giving it lethal grip. It bit down savagely, jaws piercing his mesh easily. What happened next was a bit of a blur to him. There was a loud crackle and flash of white light, the smell of burning and ozone suddenly overpowering. He heard a howl of agony. The weight was thus removed – knocked off. When the world came back into focus he saw the Gwyllgi lying prone on the hillside, smoke rising from its burned body. Its four red optics were shuttered. If it had been any color other than ink black the scorch marks would have stood out like ugly scars. As it was they were only barely visible.

He transformed and went over to it. Very carefully he checked for a sparkpulse – and found one. Thing wasn't dead. Good. Maybe they could get some answers from it. At the very least maybe they could get name and mission parameters. Asking him to switch sides and help might be too optimistic considering his attitude about killing. He was still plainly loyal to Shockwave and Megatron going by his respect for them and his disdain at Grimwing.

Then he went over to Grimwing, helping the Avioid up. At some point during the white flash he had transformed, and his one hand was back to the form of a crossbow. He quickly glanced over his frame in search of serious injury.

"I am fine, Prime. Go see to your clan-mates. I will secure the hound." He dismissed the crossbow.

Grimwing watched him go. He then went over to the Gwyllgi and hefted the unconscious beast over his shoulder. Its whole body reeked of ozone and cinder. The glare from his bow had rendered whatever had happened to the hound afterwards a mere white haze in his optics. He remembered firing his bow and that was about it. Perhaps Mark and Prowl had seen what had happened. He went over to them.

"Do you require assistance, Prowl? My tribe taught me basic medicine."

Prowl accepted the white dragon's neck as a support, pushing himself to his trods. "I'm fine. The wounds are not as severe as they seem. Mesh wounds are rarely worse than they look."

"Uh, no. You are _not_ fine." Mark argued. "You are bleeding. You need to get those welded up. Like now. We got the Gwyllgi, we can ask it questions now. Maybe it can disclose info on other Preds for us."

Infernus snorted in agreement. His expression was eerily similar to one of Ratchet's own. If he said he was fine one more time, a half-truth in it of itself, he might just get hit.

Prowl sighed. He did not argue. The human made a valid argument. Two people, one a Prime no less, telling him to get some immediate medical attention combined with alerts rapid-firing in his processor forestalled any protestations. He knew better than to argue in a case of majority rule. And he knew better than to protest against the wishes of his Prime and his brother. He was reckless in some of his decisions but he knew in the end what was best.

They jumped when Grimwing let out a cry of pain. The Gwyllgi was back online and it had dug its claws into Grimwing as it struggled against his hold. Grimwing's cry had stemmed not only from that but from its sinking its fangs deep into his shoulder, its surprisingly powerful jaws piercing the metal and even semi-warping it. The Avioid, reacting instinctively to the attack, grabbed the black hound and flung it to the ground. It got back to its paws quickly.

" _I'd die before revealing anything to you or your allies, traitor. Or the native meatbag. Unlike you, I understand loyalty._ "

Mark shot at it with more electrically-charged bullets. It yelped at the sting, backing away. Its audials pinned back against its helm. The Gwyllgi finally seemed to realize that it was outnumbered and outgunned. It was angry and obviously wanted to continue with the fight, but the only sensible thing for it to do was to run. A tactical retreat. But still it did not turn tail.

"Shockwave cares nothing for you, brother." Grimwing said. "You are nothing more than a tool in his optics. You are not valuable to him, nor to Megatron. You delude yourself by thinking so. Did either ask you to fight on the front lines with the other Decepticons? Did either ask that of any of us beasts? No. He delegated you, all of us, to be lowly guards for their off-world stores. The Prime treats me as a person, not a dumb watchdog. He trusts me with his life. You can be treated the same if you simply turn your back on a false cause."

" _Puh. Your mind's been warped by them already. What makes you think they're any different?_ "

"Because unlike the Decepticons, Autobots take no pleasure in ending lives." Grimwing answered. "We take no pleasure in killing, in harming."

* _Then you're all weaklings. War is not war without loss of life or injury._ * Its claws retracted further as another snarl bubbled.

"And war is not war if one mass murders an entire city." Prowl shot back in an icy tone.

" _You're all fools. And you'll die that way. When you fall, tell the Old One he cannot stop the Age of the Beast from rising again. Or the Age of the Decepticon!_ "

It lunged once more. But instead of attacking, it avoided the gathering and disappeared into the heavier rain. Infernus tasted the air for some hint of its heading. But he found nothing. The rain was washing away its scent too greatly for decent tracking. Not even the more experienced Avioid at his side who was used to tracking in wet weather could find something to provide clues.

"Well damn." said Mark. "Kinda hoped he'd be as reasonable as you, Grim. Guess you're unique among Predacons. We didn't even get the little asshole's name."

Prowl opened up a comm. link back to the hangar, one hand still over his leaking chestplates while he leaned against Infernus for support. Giving chase to the beast would be a waste of energy and time, and no one was in any physical state to be doing so in any case aside from Mark. Asking one human to hunt down a dangerous Predacon hunter was stupid. He had a limited amount of bullets on him and no armor. No amount of military training would save him either – the Gwyllgi was stronger, faster, bigger, and had a cloaking ability.

"Ratchet? We need transport back to base."

* * *

Fowler gawked at the sight that walked back through the groundbridge. If this didn't spell out "mission failure" he didn't know what else did:

All three metal titans bore wounds at various points on their bodies. Grimwing and Prowl had some pretty nasty looking scratches on their chests that looked all too suspiciously like claw marks, and both beasts also had bite marks on them to boot. Infernus had one on his back and Grimwing had one on his shoulder. Prowl definitely had it the worst off in terms of injuries though, and he was leaning against Grimwing for support. Poor mech looked like a lunatic with two dozen knives had tried to gut him. Mark, thank God, looked completely untouched. He could only imagine the wrath and guilt Infernus would've been suffering if he'd so much as been scratched.

He was also secretly glad Mr. Rowland wasn't here to see this. He'd throw a fit and then maybe have a heart attack. Seeing his personal legend and the young Prime hurt might be too much for him. And Prowl? Yeah, no. Better he wasn't here.

"Prowl!" Raf cried. He forgot his laptop entirely and rushed to the catwalk railings. Jack, Miko, and June joined them.

"Oh my..." June breathed.

The tactician glanced at them coldly. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Ratchet snapped. "Grimwing, get him over here. Carry him if you have to. Only way that idiot would willfully come to me is if he were missing an arm or bleeding his life out. Blasted battle-computer of his only lets him see red level injuries as dangerous. And you two are next. Don't think I'm letting you go." he added tersely.

Grimwing did not in fact carry Prowl, and that was mainly due to the freezing death glare he gave him. He simply guided him over to the medical berth and waited nearby with Infernus.

"Agent Fowler, there is something I need to discuss with you."

"You. Zip it. Now." Ratchet snapped again.

Prowl grudgingly fell silent. The longer he waited to inform Fowler of the MI6 ruse the more likely it was the native law enforcement might get suspicious.

"I know basic first-aid, Ratchet." Grimwing said. "Could I be of assistance to you in some way?"

In reply Ratchet left Prowl for a few moments, grabbed two items, and handed them to him. It was a container of cleaning solution and a large clean piece of cloth.

"Get that bite on his back cleaned up, along with those puncture marks. I'll do your shoulder and chest once I'm done with Prowl. You're not as bad off. Your armor protected you to a greater extent."

The Avioid nodded and set to work. As carefully as he could he doused the wounds on his back, not encouraged when he heard the white dragon hiss at the sensation of the solution seeping into them. What little he knew of medicine came from the Navajo of old, and a hiss like that might well signal infection. He had to hope it was just the colder fluid agitating his warmer sub-mesh sensory array, which was now upset from the wounds and exposed to the air. He was encouraged though when the Prime's hiss died down after a moment or two, leading him to believe it was in fact just that and not anything deserving of worry. Some Predacons did have a toxic or highly acidic bite he knew. Luckily the Gwyllgi was not one of them. It was a cloaked hunter, nothing more.

* _This is embarrassing...And wrong._ * Infernus's voice came over short-band.

He looked at him quizzically. What was embarrassing and wrong about having an ally tend to your wounds? Not everyone was able to walk away from a Predacon assault. They were all of them very lucky.

* _No, I get that. I_ _t's that you're hurt and tending to me instead of yourself. I know I'm supposed to be kept alive and well at all costs otherwise we're all screwed, but I'd prefer if it weren't at the cost of somebody else. You're hurt, too. You've gotta be in pain. That thing nearly shredded you open._ *

"True. I am. But I'm not as badly hurt as you are. It is a matter of priority, Prime. Your armor is lighter than mine. You are not accustomed to the form you wear now; it is strange to you still in many ways. I suffered far worse damage when Skyrender nearly tore my wing off. I was on death's door then. The pain I feel now is nothing more than a nuisance compared to that. Once you've suffered that level of agony anything less becomes...mostly insignificant."

Infernus had revealed to him over the course of his recovery that he was not a natural Predacon. Confused and misinterpreting his words, Grimwing had said he was not natural either but a mere copy of his former self. So were all the beasts that had been here. Infernus had thus explained that he hadn't even been a Predacon to start out with – he'd been a vehicle-former like the rest of his team. When he'd taken the Matrix, the entities inside it, the Thirteen, had reformatted him so he could stand more of a chance. And he'd overheard Ratchet discussing with Ultra Magnus that the alteration wasn't just mesh-deep. It went deeper: his core coding had been changed as well. He was more aggressive than he had been.

The Prime looked at him, then looked away. * _Still. You're my friend, maybe my body guard if needed...but you're sure as hell not my nurse-maid._ *

Grimwing smiled faintly at him. This youth in his own way was as stubborn as Prowl was. He only truly accepted help if there was no price tag. He felt bad if someone was treated less or differently because of him. Special treatment was something he didn't like about his new-found status as an avatar of Primus. Rank could go to the Pit and rust there under this one's command. Everyone was equal to him – friends, not soldiers.

"I swore to you and your predecessor I would safeguard you. That does include seeing to injuries you may acquire when your official medic is otherwise occupied."

"Speaking of which." Ratchet hinted. "Grimwing. Get over here. You're next, Prime. Don't even think about trying to sneak away."

* * *

DECEPTICON WARSHIP NEMESIS  
LOCATION: SKIES ABOVE THE UNITED KINGDOM  
LOCAL TIME: 6:00 P.M

"Lord Megatron, I am not one to doubt Soundwave's or Shockwave's abilities nor their reasoning...but can we trust a human as a source? They're not exactly the most trustworthy beings. Or reliable for that matter..."

Starscream was always one to question what did not seem to be good ideas to him. He was still of the opinion that the Dark Energon his master used had impaired his mental faculties to a degree. He took more risks than what he found wholly sensible, did things no one sane or right of mine would do. Desecrating the tomb of a Prime on Cybertron was one such act, but there were others before that: his undead legion, his pact with the Chaos Bringer that he had then spurned, his alliance with the odd human Cylas, and most recently his angering of the new Prime. Those were merely the ones he knew of. Others might have occurred during his sojourn in space.

Now, earlier this very evening, Soundwave had procured a report that spoke of one of the natives being attacked by a so-called "hell hound." He'd listened to it, having Soundwave pilot the ship to some region known as Wales.

"Shockwave is not one to place recognition lightly. The micro-chip in the beast in question is inactive for reasons unknown but he is certain this creature is one of his. Cloaking is not a common talent even among modern-day Cybertronians, and his memory of his projects never fails. If he says the beast is ours, it is."

"But the artist's rendition –"

"Is not metallic in appearance for the simple reason of their minds having never observed something of its nature before. The human thus depicted it in a way that could be comprehended. Its black sheen was thought to be due to moonlight and its supposedly spectral nature." Megatron replied.

The grey Seeker fell silent. He did not voice his uncertainty aloud this time: a beast of this kind was not one that should be welcomed with open arms, especially one this brutal. The crew might be put in danger with that thing wandering around. Predacons as a rule were temperamental beasts. If they did something that offended it, crew might start winding up in the infirmary – or worse, dead. At the very least the Draconian currently under Shockwave's control was semi-tame and listened to orders given by Megatron and Shockwave. It still refused to take orders from him. Here, the beast was unknown. And violent. Though if they could get it on their side once more, train it to take orders like the Draconian...then suddenly they would have a very powerful, very _useful_ asset in their ranks, one that might very well be capable of slaughtering the new Prime and his ragtag little rebels alongside its fellow beast.

But soon, when Shockwave had enough fossils, their ranks would swell further with beasts. He'd already gathered powerful ones like the Greek Hydra, the Boar, the Bull, and a few others, and he'd also recently acquired the fossilized feather of the so called Roc from Arabia, an Avioid of considerable strength.

Oh yes. These Autobots were as good as dead once Project: Predacon was complete. No one would stop them from re-taking Cybertron then.

* * *

Megatron recieved a silent ping from Soundwave saying they had arrived at the location. Dismissing Starscream, he made his way to the warship's landing and launch runway atop it. There, Shockwave waited for him with his pet beast.

"You are certain?" he asked.

"My calculations have shown it to be impossible for this beast to be of ownership to the Autobots. Though the micro-chip is inactive I can calculate many possible theories as to why, only two of which include Autobot inference. Predacons are loyal, Lord Megatron. They are not so capricious in their loyalty as our kind can be. They obey the strongest. The Autobots are not the strongest. If they were, my Predacon would have turned already."

The warlord nodded.

"There is one curious thing I would like to say to you before Soundwave groundbridges us to the location." Shockwave added after a silence.

Megatron looked at him sharply. It was unlike Shockwave to keep information from him. He was to report anything and everything relating to Project: Predacon directly to him. The same condition went to Starscream. He could not afford secrecy among the ranks, and he certainly couldn't afford it among his higher ups. He had learned that such secrecy allowed for underhanded plotting.

"I recieved a rather odd communication from a human computer before leaving my lab. There was no digital signature other than the machine's own, but the contents were...interesting, possibly troubling. A written message of three words, nothing more."

"And they were?"

" _The traitor lives._ "

Megatron arched an imperious, skeptical brow ridge at the scientist. Beside them, the Predacon softly screeched and hissed. It lifted its snout and sniffed at the evening air. The beast was anxious to hunt it seemed.

"That does not clarify things to me, Shockwave. There have been many traitors in the Decepticon ranks over the centuries. Usually they are slain before they have time to turn to the enemy. This message might be from one of the those selfsame survivors. This could be the Autobot's attempting to create a clever trap. One of their human allies is an expert with Earth computer technology."

"Possible, but unlikely." admitted Shockwave. "Their medic is clever, and the two-wheeler is an expert at ambushes, but their new Prime is still young, inexperienced in such tactics. And Prowl is unlikely to be involved despite his own intellect. He knows I would see through such a ruse, as it was used many times during the War on Cybertron to coax individuals or enemy units into traps and ambushes. There are few versions of the tactic that are unknown to me."

"You think this might be from the Predacon we are retrieving?"

"I make no theories until I have enough proof. There is no proof in records nor in my own research that indicates Predacons are intelligent enough to hack computers and send anonymous messages. They are hunters, my lord, and they take orders relatively well. But they are not saboteurs or scientists. I have no reason to suspect this came from a beast. More likely it may have come from the femme, Airachnid. I know she has an...issue with you and Starscream. But there is only one means of discovering for certain who sent the message. This might be coincidence or a trap...or it might not be. If Airachnid, my Predacon can dispatch of her easily."

"Soundwave."

A groundbridge opened before them. The two Decepticons and their cloned beast went through.

* * *

It had never been in a region such as this before. The ground beneath its claws was damp, soggy, smooth and slick. An annoying, cold liquid was falling from the skies in a fine mist, dripping into its open optics and seeping into the cracks in its armor. It hissed and screeched its annoyance and confusion. Smells, many and unfamiliar, bombarded its olfactory sensors in a wave.

Shockwave noted it was behaving oddly, ever shifting and circling like it was agitated by something. His Builder knew the sensory systems of a beast were unmatched in comparison to those of modern day Cybertronians. With its powerful olfactory sensors, chemical analyzers, sharp sight, brute strength, instinctive homing senses, and scalding fire it was the ultimate hunter. It was still young though, still learning. The Builder had told it many things, but some things it still did not know.

"Shockwave?" Megatron pressed the Builder. It could read in the Grey One's red optics the suspicion, the mistrust. _If the beast could not be kept under control._..then what? Surely the Grey One would not go so far as to disown or kill? It had done well in its tasks thus far. The Autobot trick it had not expected. It had merely been following orders then. How was it to know of the ruse?

"It is merely agitated by something it can sense, Lord Megatron. For it to be this way the cause must either be recent, present...or both."

The Predacon screamed and leapt in front of the two, amber wings flared in an obvious threat display. It screamed again. Fire began to build in its neck, rising, ready to be spewed forth in a wave of burning pain. Neither Decepticon had heard the low frequency growl come from nearby, but the Predacon had. There was something out there, watching from the evening shadows.

"Hold." Shockwave ordered firmly. One hand went up, clenched.

The flame subsided. But the wings remained flared out. Something ahead of them flickered in the mist – a flash of black and red, like an angry spirit escaped from the Pit. The Predacon growled a warning to the entity, warning it to stay back or risk its wrath. It was startled but encouraged when a replying growl came back, the speaker saying empty threats were not necessary. Then the apparition made itself known, becoming visible at the pedes of the Grey One and the Builder. It was some strange hound-like creature with four red optics, and it bore not the crest of the Predacon but of a Decepticon. Strange. Why was its crest different?

"Designation?" asked the Builder.

Designation? The other beast had a name? Why did the Predacon not have one of its own? Had it not earned one? Was it not worthy of a name yet? Surely it deserved one by now. But it could not ask for one. It knew not how to communicate in the strange language of its Builder. It had not been taught. It had tried to speak to the Devious Flier but it had not worked. No matter how hard it tried to communicate it could not. Would it not be taught? Was it only useful for hunting, for killing? No, no. Surely it would be Named soon.

A voice spoke over the common frequency used amongst the Decepticon ranks:

* _You named me, Builder. Many thousands of years ago, before you sent me here to guard your resources, which I have done so dutifully. I am the black scourge of the battlefield. I am the phantom who rends apart those who oppose the Decepticons on this_ _world or threaten our cause_.*

* _I am Ravage._ *

* * *

 **Author's Note: Uh-oh...Say hello to Ravage everyone! Classic G1 character re-imagined as a true beast instead of a mini-con/cassetticon.**

 **Slightly shorter chapter than my usual fare. But look** **–** **the Predacon's slowly getting smarter, starting to question things...;)**

 **Also, I totally think Grim would've picked up a few useful skills from the Navajo. And yet another reason not to go f***ing with this bad-ass: he's got a lightning crossbow and scary good aim with it. I'll explain why he has it and he hasn't used it before now next chapter. ;3**

 _Note to Ast: Ah, ah you kinda got lore mixed up here. Jack did not get the Matrix in the show. He got the Key, which is more like a back-up drive/access card to Vector Sigma. He did not get the Matrix itself. He was merely given a means of downloading the information stored on it and bringing it back. Not the same as actually getting it. "Honorary Prime" in Miko's own words is NOT the same as being an actual Prime._


	20. Chapter 20: Rise of the Serpents Part 1

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 20

* _Note to Kaleia: I'm not saying involve the people necessarily. Maybe reports or a website, something more indirect? Raf is pretty skilled on conspiracy sites. xD_

 _We're switching things up here. Let's see what Bulkhead and Wheeljack are up to!_

* * *

Outside, the early afternoon sun shone hot and bright over the Nevada desert and Area 51. The black asphalt shimmered with mirages. Very few human soldiers or personnel were foolish enough to wander in the blistering heat. Some did do so, occasionally darting between buildings with messages or other tasks that simply could not wait till evening. Most were in the hangars or in the below ground tunnels and chambers.

Prowl was released from Ratchet's care with the warning to stay on site until he gave him the all clear. He was also not allowed to transform until he said it was safe to do so. That turned out fortunately for him, as he right away called Fowler aside and began to discuss the matter at hand in hushed toned with him. Ratchet noted Fowler looked slightly annoyed as he spoke, one hand massaging his temples as if suffering a sudden headache. From the sounds of it he was discussing international relations between law enforcement and how one might correct the issue of a lie being put forth to avoid suspicion during their investigation into the Gwyllgi:

"So lemme get this straight: you used some kind of hologram, disguised it as an MI6 officer, and told the Welsh police that you were one of them and that the investigation had been transferred over to them?" Fowler repeated. "And they believed you?"

"That is correct." returned Prowl calmly. His tone did not betray worry but it did betray some underlying concern.

Fowler groaned. He said he'd see what he could do to sort this out. He then left the hangar, heading out into the heat.

Ratchet issued similar warnings to Grimwing and Infernus, the former being thanked afterwards for helping defend the two. They were on less of a leash than Prowl was since they weren't as badly off, but he still wanted to keep an optic on them regardless. Primus only knew what trouble the youth might get into if he didn't watch him. He was always one for exploring, and his wings were still torn. He hated sitting still. The last thing the medic wanted was for him to somehow clamber atop a hangar to see if he could still fly and then fall to the ground like a crate of bricks.

After some debate it was decided that Bumblebee, Arcee, and their protective Prime would investigate the oil field. But they were to wait to go into the field until they heard back from Bulkhead and Wheeljack over comm. link. Communications out in the jungles of Mexico were patchy at best. Infernus said he wanted to be sure the two Wreckers made it back safely before sending others out on more missions. He didn't want to spread everyone too thin. If a beast attacked, he wanted back-up to be readily available – not just for them, but for the two Wreckers as well. They were strong but beasts tended to be bigger and stronger.

[Hey, Sunshine?] came a voice over the crackling comm. lines.

Ratchet gave an odd growling groan. "What is it, Wheeljack?"

[Bulk and I came up with nada at Teotihuacan. Too many visitors kept us from doing any real snooping and security there is pretty tight. All we found out is that some people seriously think Quetzalcoatl was an alien. Didn't find any solid proof for it other than the old myths about him. Didn't the kid mention there was another place we could look? Somewhere on the peninsula?]

Raf perked up. "Yeah! Chichen Itza! I got geographic coordinates right here! One sec, Wheeljack! I'll get you a groundbridge back to base and then we'll get you guys onto the site."

Seconds later a groundbridge opened and the two Wreckers emerged, mud-splattered. Bumblebee buzzed at them, asking what the heck had happened while Bluestreak and Mark snickered rather loudly, the former saying they totally needed a shower when they got done with their mission. They explained that the previous day a pretty bad storm had passed over the Teotihuacan area and so the jungle was basically one big mud pit.

"You guys didn't find anything?" Jack asked.

"Nada." Bulkhead answered. "Like 'Jackie said: too many eyes watching for us to go snooping. Here's hopin' this other site isn't as crowded."

"Actually, before we go I gotta grab something. Maybe it'll help us out."

Wheeljack went out towards Hangar H where the Jackhammer was stored. He returned a little bit dirtier, mud now mixed with ship fluids. When asked what it was he'd went to get and why it involved his ship, the white Wrecker had smirked and remained silent much to Ratchet's irritation. "If it's anything explosive..." the medic warned him. He assured him it wasn't. Ratchet, needless to say, did not look wholly convinced.

"If you need extra help I might be able to hack some satellites and give you guys some bird's eye view data."

"Hasn't that been tried before? And nothing of significance was found?" Jack reminded him.

Rafael gave a sly little smile as he said: "Who says I'm gonna be borrowing visual range satellites?"

* * *

SOUTH-EASTERN MEXICO, YUCATAN PENINSULA  
TEMPLE OF KUKALCAN, CHICHEN ITZA  
LOCAL TIME: 4:00 P.M

Wheeljack and Bulkhead trudged through the thick jungles around the ancient step pyramid. Neither were mythology buffs, but Wheeljack was the slightly smarter of the two and had paid attention to Raf's briefing. Well, mostly. He just wanted to get out, find the beast, dead or alive and get rid of it either way. Fighting that dragon had been a hassle. He was not eager to go fighting any more of the beasts.

And yet here they both were, investigating another pyramid dedicated to a snake god. They had already investigated Teotihuacan as best they could with all the visitors. Other than overhearing some interesting conversations concerning the origins of the serpent deities they hadn't found anything concrete other than sculptures. But they guessed that if anything were to be found relating to the snake it would be either in or around the pyramid. The suspected radius Ratchet had given was about five miles. Considering they were on foot that might take a while.

Wheeljack knew that they were searching the jungles for evidence, living or not, of a monster the ancient cultures in the area had worshiped as a god. To the Maya the creature was known as Kukulcan; to the Aztec it was Quetzalcoatl. In both iterations the creature was a powerful flying, feathered serpent from the stars. What was most interesting about it was that it was a wind deity – but also apparently a god of learning for the Aztecs. Even more curious was that many of the ancient cultures, not just the Aztec and Maya, had worshiped a feathered serpent deity. To Wheeljack that was more than a little strange. An entire region worshiping the same monster? No way in the Pit was that coincidence. Cultural diffusion was a thing, yeah, but that didn't totally explain this. Raf had told them that each iteration for each culture was different than another's but all bore more or less the same characteristic. It was big, it was feathered, it flew, and it was absurdly powerful and highly respected.

"Kinda reminds you o' Harahadria 2, doesn't it, Bulk?"

Bulkhead chuckled: "Least the bugs here aren't the size of small dogs and spit acid. Humidity's 'bout the same though. A total nightmare."

They kept walking.

"'Jackie, we really got a chance of findin' anything out here? If Jack says humans have been searching these jungles on foot and with satellites for Primus knows how long and have only found a fraction of the stuff hidden...then you can take it as true. He's a smart kid. Also, I think it's because it's not exactly safe to go wandering around thanks to the cartels and the less-than-friendly wildlife."

The white Wrecker smirked, holding up the device he'd scavenged from his ship:

"That's why I brought the deep-pulse scanner I salvaged from the Jackhammer. What we're lookin' for may not be above ground, and human radar technology isn't exactly on par with ours. And that's also why the kid's hacking into as many non-visual-range satellites as he can. More eyes we got looking the better our chances. Doesn't hurt to have alien technology either."

Bulkhead grinned. Reckless as he was, 'Jackie was pretty smart.

"So is there anything on it?"

"Nothin' yet."

For an hour nothing was found beneath the ground as they went further and further afield from the main pyramid. Then, Rafael provided a hint:

[Hey, guys?] Raf's voice chimed in backed with static. [I found something on the satellite feed and I also found something matching it in a classified archaeological file. There's a low mound ten miles north from your position. It was only found a week ago and they haven't started excavating yet. The satellite feed is showing something that definitely looks like some kind of structure but it's too garbled to make out for sure. There's also a very faint energy coming from it – too faint for the archaeologists to detect, and even the satellites are having trouble identifying it. It's pretty far down. _Might_ be Energon. Might be something else.]

"Some kinda tomb or something maybe?" guessed Bulkhead.

[Maybe. I'd know more if we could see inside. The satellites can't see so far beneath ground as the energy signal is.]

"I'll see what the scanner can find. No groundbridges. We'll head there on foot. We don't want 'Cons tracking the energy bursts. I'll call ya back when we get there, kid."

[Okay. Stay safe out there. Tell us if you find anything! There's so much alien lore around the Aztecs and Maya and stuff I'd totally be surprised if you found nothing!] That was Miko this time, not Raf. Wheeljack laughed and retorted back with the question of: when had he and Bulk ever managed to disappoint?

Bulkhead was secretly thankful Bluestreak had kept his spunky charge from sneaking along this time around what with all the tropical diseases the wildlife carried. That and she might overheat in this heat and humidity. It was no laughing matter he thought as he trudged deeper into the jungle with his friend. He kinda regretted not bringing Blue along though. Ever since meeting Grimwing he'd become fascinated with Earth's bird species and wildlife in general. Just in his time here he'd spotted over two dozen colorful birds flying between the trees or nesting in them.

Onward they walked into the leafy, humid maze of trees.

* * *

Infernus was back to his pacing. His focus was outward, on the signals of the two Wreckers on the screen. He had sneakily hacked into Rafael's laptop and was searching through his Google bookmarks to investigate more into the beasts Bulkhead and Wheeljack were hunting in Mexico. The information was not raising his spirits or hopes. The only encouraging bit was that a few of the beast gods were seen as teachers. Too many though were viewed as violent and dangerous.

Bluestreak did his best to try to convince him that everything would be okay, but it just wasn't enough. He didn't like his sibling so worried, so anxious. There it was though. He had the responsibility of keeping Cybertron alive and making sure his whole team lived to see its massive spark re-ignited. And now he had a handicapped Predacon to tend to as well – and the two Wreckers were trudging through Mexico looking for a serpent god beast. He could understand why he was so stressed.

Prowl had left when Fowler had called and was now presently in a conference call with members of the U.S Secret Service, Army, and the English MI6. No one was quite sure when he'd get back.

Jack and his mother watched him closely, noting the white youth's sudden, abrupt turns. They observed Bluestreak was keeping his distance from him, too, despite him plainly wanting to go up and hug him. Normally whenever a sibling was upset, human or otherwise, the other sibling would try to approach to comfort the other. Bluestreak as plain as day wanted to. In fact, all the Autobots were giving him a wide berth. So was something keeping him and the others back? Infernus certainly looked like he needed some comforting. He acted like he was on the verge of panicking. Jack had to admit he was a lot more nervous than he'd been in the past – as his normal, non-beast self. Considering the stakes though it really made sense for him to be nervous.

Ratchet watched him as well. The humans were unable to sense his field like he and the other Autobots could. Right now it was crackling with glyphs for worry and concern, frustration and turmoil.

"Smoke, honestly. They're Wreckers, dude! They'll be fine! Stop worrying your butt off!" Miko said.

"They've made it out of worse situations." Jack confirmed. "Besides, if things get hairy Ratchet can just 'bridge them out."

He paused in his pacing, somewhat appeased.

' _Kid, honestly. You care for 'em, I get that. But they don't need you around all the time. They're trained fighters. Wreckers to boot._ ' said the Shifter. ' _They've dealt with scrap just as dangerous as a beast. You read their battle reports. You know that better than any of_ _us_.'

'You _weren't nearly so nervous about their last missions._ ' Prima observed pointedly.

Uh, yeah. For good reason. They knew in the case of the Lion that it was long dead. There was no reason to worry about it attacking either mech. Arion, while more ambiguous, was also more elusive and not as aggressive in temperament. So long as you paid the horse afterwards he was happy to help. Made him think he was a kind of mercenary. Here, with the Aztec and Mayan beasts and "gods" things weren't so clear, especially in the case of Kukulcan and Quetzalcoatl and some of the monsters of their lore. Many of them were incredibly violent and aggressive, very easy to offend...and a good fraction of them were associated with death. The two serpent gods were no exception. Not the nicest picture being painted here, was it?

None of the Thirteen responded. Oh, well, _that_ was encouraging he thought sarcastically.

Shaking his helm imperceptibly, he went over to Grimwing. The Thunderbird was busy conversing with Mark while he took a peek at the broken mechanisms in his wing, perched between his wing blades. The Bluetooth on his ear seemed to be active judging by the blue glow of a tiny indicator light, and his sharper hearing picked up a voice from the speaker – Neal's. He guessed he was busy keeping the auto-shop people in line and was judging for himself wirelessly how he might correct some of the damage.

"Any feed to your processor yet?" he heard Mark ask through the specialized screw driver in his mouth.

Grimwing shook his helm.

' _If they can't repair the wing...I'm not about to let him remain grounded for the rest of life. That's not right. But I'd doom Cybertron if I used the Forge on him...Would it really be worth it?_ '

* * *

"This is the place the kid told us about."

They had finally reached the spot Raf had detailed to them. It wasn't much to look at on the surface: just a low mound kind of resembling a hill. About two miles away was the low, crumbling ruins of another pyramid – smaller than any of the ones seen so far. All around them was thick jungle. The humans might've well been excused for missing this. It really did look like an ordinary hill, and it was deep enough in the jungles and far enough away from any other structures that it was easy to pass by. Only radar would reveal its true nature.

Below ground? That was another story entirely. Wheeljack's deep-pulse scanner was going wild, the screen displaying what looked very much like an underground structure despite how garbled and blurry it looked. And it was deep below them – almost a hundred feet, like the structure had been built underground to start with. That alone got him suspicious, because he was pretty sure the ancient humans in the area didn't have the necessary tools for that kind of engineering feat. There was also an energy signal far below, but the scanner couldn't seem to lock onto it. Something was interfering with its pulses, making them scatter around.

"Wow. Look at the size of that thing!" Bulkhead exclaimed.

Wheeljack looked at the scanner oddly. He tapped it experimentally. Nothing changed. "Something's screwin' with the scanner."

"Like what? There's no radar jammer around here."

"No, no. It's not jamming. It's makin' the signal bounce around till it's mostly scrambled. It's...it's interference. And I think whatever this thing is down there is causing it."

Bulkhead merely looked at him. There was no way he was believing there was something down there in this...structure that was interfering with a very advanced piece of technology from Cybertron and the humans hadn't arrived at the same conclusion. Then again, their radar tech wasn't nearly as advanced as his race's and the jungles were dense and unexplored...Pit, the kid had found Grimwing hidden away in an often visited mountain in New Mexico. How was this any harder to believe? In a way it was easier. Fewer humans. Thick, unexplored jungle. Lost civilization. Possible link to aliens.

"Alright, there's gotta be a way in that doesn't involve digging if this is some kinda bunker or tomb. Shockwave always has a back-up plan in case of an emergency. Escape tunnels from safe-houses or labs were one way."

Bulkhead glanced back in the direction of the ruined pyramid they'd passed, gesturing with a thick thumb and suggesting that maybe they should start looking there.

Wheeljack was inclined to agree with him: "The humans already checked the place out I think, but we both know how good Shockwave is at hiding things. Wouldn't be surprised if the humans never caught on. Best way to hide something? Hide it in plain sight. Reverse psychology and all that scrap."

"Worth a shot." admitted the other. "Come on. Let's go check it out."

They trudged back through the jungle to the pyramid. When they did get there they very quickly ducked behind what cover the jungle offered, both frowning. Seven Vehicons were now scouring the ruins, and they hadn't been there not even a half an hour ago. The Nemesis must've locked onto their life signals and Megatron or Shockwave, suspicious, had sent some troops to investigate what two Autobots were doing traipsing around in the Mexican jungle. Either they were here for the energy signal, which could very well be an Energon stockpile, or they were here for the beast that might be in the underground structure nearby. That they were here and not at the mount meant his guess about the hidden entrance might be right. Or maybe they were searching this structure in hopes of finding the mound? Hard to say.

"Slagging perfect." Wheeljack cursed. "Bulk, stay down."

"Think that more applies to you, 'Jackie. You're bright white. You stand out too much. I blend in better. Stay here. I'll see if I can get in close and see what they're up to."

Wheeljack gave him a skeptical look (for Bulkhead wasn't the stealthiest of Cybertronians ever built) but in the end he couldn't think of any better options off the top of his helm. He nodded him on but said he'd be watching his back. Just in case. And so he stayed back and watched his friend tread carefully ever closer to the cluster of enemies. If he got spotted he'd leap in. No survivors. They couldn't allow it, not with possible Energon on the line, and most certainly not with a beast so powerful as to be labeled as a god by the ancients.

* * *

Bulkhead got as close as he dared to, close enough to allow him to eavesdrop on any conversations passing between the Vehicons. He was smart enough not to press his luck. Well camouflaged as he was, he was also bigger and heavier than his smaller friend and thus he would be easier to spot and easier to hear. So, he set to work.

" _You sure this is the place?_ " one Vehicon asked.

" _Shockwave said this was where the chip signal was coming_ _from._ " another answered, one who seemed in charge of the group." _Scanner says so, too._ _I don't see anything though, Predacon or secret passage. Only the chip signal. Should we call for one of the drillers maybe?_ "

" _They're busy elsewhere. Starscream did say that Shockwave said there was a way in somewhere around here. Bunkers always have more than one way out in case of cave ins. So we better keep looking, else Megatron might throw us to the Predacons._ " said a third.

Their searching went on. He lost sight of one or two for a few brief seconds as they passed behind large walls or ruined pillars but otherwise he had a good viewing point. They hadn't seemed to have noticed him yet either. But at least he knew now that the 'Cons had a means of finding the beasts they were after, alive or dead: tracking chips. That was why they were here. They hadn't been tracking him and 'Jackie – they'd been tracking the chip's signal. Ratchet might be able to make use of that somehow if he or 'Jackie got their hands on this one before the 'Cons did. They also had two Predacons now, not just one. He had a bad feeling he knew who the second one was.

He retreated back to report in, relaying everything he'd heard and seen. Wheeljack nodded as he finished. A smirk soon formed.

"Well, we got our info. Looks like the kid's hell hound joined up with the enemy. Let's make sure these guys never report back in. Do 'em a favor."

Not waiting for an answer, Wheeljack drew his katanas and slunk towards the ruins, leaving Bulkhead to catch up.

* _Bulk, get the two on the east side. I'll get the two on the north._ *

* _Gotcha. Meet up with you to take out the others?_ *

* _Yep. That's how we roll._ *

Wheeljack ducked behind a semi-collapsed wall and waited for one of his two targets to draw near. When the Vehicon got within arm's reach, he struck out, grabbed it, and drove his katana into its chest, being careful to keep his other hand over its face to muffle any sounds. It went limp within seconds and he lugged it aside. The noise drew its partner. It met a similar fate. He heard the pounding of Bulkhead's hammer as it impacted one, and the muffled cry of another as it was struck as well. The remaining three Vehicons were now on edge, weapons out and searching for movement. He spotted Bulkhead opposite him and they shared a nod.

They struck out of cover in a flash. Bulkhead pounded one into the ground and then went for the second. Wheeljack impaled the third, driving his blades into its chassis almost up to their hilts. Using sheer brute strength, he swung the Vehicon towards the one Bulkhead was dealing with. The two collided and fell, one already offline. The other one, senseless, was quickly terminated by a stab to the spark chamber.

"Found a scanner on one of my guys." Bulkhead handed it to him as he spoke.

"Alright. Let's see what these dimwatts were looking for exactly."

Bulkhead got closer and peered at the new scanner while the white Wrecker examined it. There was a single blip on the display screen directly below them, registering about seventy to a hundred feet beneath them, around the same depth as the other underground structure. No way was that a coincidence. His history with construction back home told him it was always best to build below ground connective tunnels level with the two structures to prevent warping. With soil this damp and everything that was the only sensible thing to do. Shockwave knew that as well as he did.

The white Wrecker beside him looked around. Vehicons weren't the sharpest weapons in the armory so they'd probably missed the secret entrance, and they hadn't been there for very long either. He wouldn't put it past Starscream to give false information to make it look like Shockwave had made a mistake. Those two mixed about as well as oil and fire. Starscream'd do anything to make the cyclops look bad.

"Spread out. Look for anything that might stand out even a little. Shockwave always liked being low-key but the entrance has to be visible enough for someone not so smart to find. There's a tunnel down there that connects to the other structure or another near by. There's gotta be a way down to it."

They set about searching. For upwards of fifteen minutes neither found anything that might hint at a secret passage or entryway into the below ground structure. Then Bulkhead called out:

"'Jackie! Check this out!"

Wheeljack came over. Bulkhead was standing atop a fallen pillar just outside the ruins and looking down into the main area. Curious, he went over beside him, hefting himself up to peep over a crumbling wall. Not a former construction worker, he didn't fully realize how weak the wall was. He let out a yelp when it collapsed on him, sending him tumbling helm-first into the main area of the ruins. When the stars blinked out of his optics he was staring at a dusty floor now littered with stone shards. Giving a snort of annoyance, he pushed himself to his knees and swept the debris aside. What he found staring back at him made him grin in triumph:

It was old. It was very worn, almost worn down to non-existence. But there was no mistaking the image of a feathered serpent guarding over a pile of what looked like glowing stone blocks. He knew better – Energon. And hanging around its neck was a pendant that looked strikingly like a Maya or Aztec-themed Decepticon crest, the carving slightly more raised than the rest of the image, almost to the point where it was unnoticeable.

"Heh. Leave it to the cyclops to hide somethin' in plain sight." observed the white Wrecker. "Logical means predictable, amiright?"

He pressed down on the crest. A low groaning of ancient gears met him, forcing him to move free, as the ground beneath him shuddered, opening up like a cavernous maw. It was a sheer drop down. Made sense. The beast was supposedly a flier, and it would keep any nosy searchers, human or 'bot, from heading in on a whim. But they were built tougher than most. A drop like this was nothing to them.

"Welp." he said, drawing his katanas once more. "Let's get to beast hunting."

Together they descended down, down, down into the dark until they hit ground with a resonating bang and a light splashing of water, staggering from the impact. Each flipped on their headlights.

It was pitch black outside the illuminating beams but as they looked around they found themselves to be in a fairly large underground chamber. It looked natural too. Whoever had built this place – Shockwave, the Predacon, or even the humans with help from the Predacon – had apparently taken advantage of a natural _cenote_ or sinkhole and simply modified it. Resourceful. Rough limestone was covered in smoothly carved limestone bricks covered in Maya hieroglyphs. Images of a feathered serpent adorned any other free space not busy telling a story. A small pyramid, presumably an altar, lay off to one side of the chamber, covered in feathered serpent imagery.

"Whoa..." was all Bulkhead managed. Dark and creepy as the place was, it was damned impressive. And from what he knew of architecture, this seemed to be just an antechamber.

Wheeljack grinned. He opened a comm. link back to base and said: "Hey, Raf? We got something."

[Really?! What'd you find?] came the eager tween's voice.

"Some kinda antechamber was beneath some old ruins near that mound you told us about. Made out of a natural sinkhole. Feathered serpent imagery everywhere. There's also some kinda altar off to one side that's plastered in that imagery. Makes me think our beast did have some interaction with the Maya, because I doubt it built the altar."

[Uh, yeah. Knowing the Maya and that the antechamber's in a _cenote_ that may mean this is some kind of sacrificial pit to appease the serpent and keep it from wrecking everything. _Cenote_ are said to be gateways to the Mayan Underworld. Advanced as they were, the Maya _did_ perform human sacrifices. Dark blot on their culture and on human nature as whole, but there it is. And since we're in Chichen Itza, this is Kukulcan we're dealing with, not Quetzalcoatl. Quetzy's actually viewed as a good guy more or less, a defender of humans and king protector and teacher and stuff. Kukulcan...er, not so much. Still a king protector but he's not quite so friendly.]

"Wait...so we might be dealing _two_ different serpents?" Bulkhead demanded. "Oh, joy..."

[Could be. That would explain why the two iterations are so different from each other but look strikingly similar in iconography concerning them.] Ratchet said. [That you're searching for the Mayan Kukulcan...please be careful. Both of you. He's far more dangerous than Quetzalcoatl is depicted as.]

[Yeah, but some of the modern folktales concerning him paint Kuku as a nicer snake. Just so you know. May reflect that he could've softened in a way kinda like Grimwing did over the centuries.] added Jack. [After being alone on a foreign planet for so long I wouldn't be surprised if a fraction of these Preds went from 'Con to Neutral or even started to support the 'Bots like Grim.]

[Disillusioned you think?] That was Infernus. [I dunno. Grim's a pretty good example of that, I guess. But Preds we've found have shown they're crazy loyal to the 'Cons, Jack. Gwyllgi was a good example. Don't hold your hopes up.]

[Not saying it for sure but it might be a possibility. They're both pretty dangerous, but they're also both viewed as _protectors_ by both cultures. Keep that in mind, guys.]

"Sayin' they might just be super territorial or somethin', kid?" asked Wheeljack. Ugh. That required being tactful – something neither of them were very good at. He didn't want to call Infernus in to settle another misunderstanding (poor kid had enough on his plate in his opinion) but it could very well come to that. Just going by Grim's example, Preds were prideful and prone to taking offense when none was really meant. And Grim was one of the polite ones.

[Maybe. Just be careful – and tactful.] The caution in Jack's tone was easily recognizable.

Unless it was Bulkhead's imagination he swore he heard Miko snigger loudly over the line.

They kept searching the chamber. They did indeed find a few old, battered human skulls lying around. Whether or not the serpent had done them in they didn't know. The fall alone could've killed them, and from the water on the floor it might've been filled with water in the past. Bulkhead found a lever shaped like a serpent's head and yanked. Wheeljack, having seen one _Indiana Jones_ movie one night with Miko, shouted and darted over to him. He was expecting the whole cavern to collapse on them. Rule One with old ruins: don't go flipping random levers, switches, or buttons because you didn't know what they were used for.

His panic turned out to be a little misplaced.

The water in the room began to flow in one direction – not strongly, but enough to be noticed. Meant it was flowing somewhere downwards. The wall behind the altar grumbled and groaned and seemed to melt down into the ground, revealing a tall passageway easily wide enough to permit them both if they went single-file. Bulk might be a bit cramped he supposed but he'd fit.

"Come on, 'Jackie. Let's go see if we can't find our Kuku serpent."

Wheeljack smirked: "I see what you did there."

The white Wrecker leading, the two entered the dark stone passageway, headlights burning through the dark.


	21. Chapter 21: Rise of the Serpents Part 2

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 21

* _Note to Kaleia: I've done my homework here. Oh BOY have I done my homework. :D If you go do the same, you might catch a hint about the loyalties of each. And find that there aren't just two of them...because what other major civilization in Mesoamerica have I **not**_ _mentioned? ;) I'm not spoiling it in this note, but if you know your ancient civilizations you'll know which one I'm talking about and you'll know which serpents are "good" and which are "bad." Hint: the culture was most well-known for sun worship. ;3_

 _Note for Julien: Nah. Y'see, I'm making this quite different from Season 3. And the funny thing with Cybertronians is that, while they live a long time, they aren't immortal. They do age, just very slowly. And as for what he said to him...the good ol' glow stick often speaks in riddles that lack immediate clarity and have double meanings. Won't say any more than that. ;) The finale will be quite different in the end. I'm trying to keep this original. Which is why I keep some things but alter them significantly or simply change things altogether._

 _Oh and on a personal note: my summer math class got canceled out from under me due to lack of students, and they refuse to fully refund me. So...I guess I'm free for the rest of the summer? Maybe? Also, not cool jerks. Not cool. I'm forced to drop a class I expect ALL my money back. *growls* Worse? My new laptop charger doesn't work, but Dell is sending a techie to see if they can fix the issue. If not, I gotta ship it and the machine in a box I paid for, pay for shipping, and leave it at the Dell depot for almost 2 weeks._

* * *

"Uh, 'Jackie? What exactly do we do if we _do_ find one of these snake guys in here?"

A shallow stream of water sloshed beneath them as the two walked single-file down its length. The ceiling occasionally dripped with condensation. The walls were cavern-like in spots but altered by man in others, feathered serpents observing them like sentinels with their stony eyes. Their only illumination came from their bright headlights. All else was darkness.

Wheeljack looked back at the carvings closely, looking for any sign the beast might be friendly to some degree. Some showed it as devouring men. That didn't quite ring true to him. Cybertronians survived solely on Energon. They didn't go eating organic life forms. Others showed it hovering above ancient humans, priests probably, mouth open. One solitary images showed it coiled about a pyramid, maw open in a silent scream. Mayan hieroglyphs flowed alongside the images but he had no idea what was being said. Were they stories of Kukulan? Maybe. Sure seemed that way for some of them at least. But others looked like they might be warnings to get the Pit out of there while they still the chance. This snake was not to be toyed with.

He had to wonder though: who had carved these images? If the antechamber they'd come from was a sacrificial pit then one would assume it was built to ensure no survivors. Those skulls sure confirmed that. Had the serpent... _let_ them carve these images at some point? Because he kind of doubted that Kukulcan had done these images itself. Grim was an artist by hobby but that didn't mean every Pred was. Grim was a unique case in literally every way. This might connect with Jack's idea that the serpent was protective of those who showed it respect and quite simply violently territorial. There was a slim chance they could talk their way out of this – slim, but still a chance. A one percent chance was better than no chance.

"Don't tick it off?" he hazarded, glancing back.

Bulkhead gave him a deadpanning look. "...No, really. What do we do?"

"Bulk, we both know Preds are touchy. We both know that we're not the world's best negotiators. We're black ops, not diplomats. That's not a winning combo. So we better hope and pray this thing's dead. Or as nice as Grim. Which, considering our luck, is probably putting our hopes too high." he answered wryly.

The green Wrecker behind him didn't seem entirely satisfied but an answer was still an answer to him either way.

Both lapsed into silence as they went onward. From what the scanner was showing they were headed towards the other structure they'd found below ground. But still the scanner was having trouble identifying the structure itself and the energy signal discovered with it. The only thing showing for certain was the chip signal. With everything looking natural or human-made so far Wheeljack found himself asking what was causing the signal warping. It wasn't a signal jammer. In-built scrambling devices maybe to keep snoopy natives or Autobots away? Grim had built his own hologram projector to hide his lair. Had Kukulcan made them or had Shockwave supplied them?

The path declined a few degrees as they neared the second, larger structure. The water beneath them rushed a little faster. They came to a big stone double door far too big to be made for humans, a feathered serpent icon clambering up the door's seam with its four metal-coated wings folded to act like latches. Hung around its neck was the same Decepticon pendant they'd seen topside. Unlike the doorway they'd use to get here, there didn't seem to be a lever to open them, at least not one easily seen. It looked to have been sealed for some time.

Bulkhead frowned. "Look around. There's gotta be a way in or some kind of drainage system, otherwise the water'll have built up already."

Wheeljack nodded and set about examining the walls. Bulkhead went for the door. Those wings looked a lot like latches to him, and a closer look revealed that they were. In fact, the wings looked to have been added _after_ the main carving. There were stone carved wings beneath them, but these were intended to act as real seals. How the locking mechanism was undone they'd have to find out if they wanted that chip and whatever else was in there with it. Examining the door, he got the sense of a locked vault – the kind of vault used to store things like nukes or magical artifacts in fantasy movies.

But was it locked to keep people like him and 'Jackie _out_?

Or to keep something else _in_?

Eyeing the carvings on the wall, the green Wrecker shivered a bit despite the humidity. He kind of didn't want to know the answer. He had half a mind to simply turn around and leave this place locked up. He felt they were messing with something they shouldn't be.

* * *

 _Decepticon Warship: Nemesis  
_

 _Present Location: [REDACTED]_

 _Local Time: 11:00 P.M_

It did not understand the newcomer very well. It had not had time nor opportunity to interact with the pitch black canine stranger now roaming the halls of the ship it called home. With the Grey Flier constantly trying to train it with that blasted rod of his he rarely had the chance, and it could not ask any of the ship's crew. None could understand what it said. It knew only the other beast's name: "Ravage". That was what the midnight hound with the four red optics was called. It had heard the Builder discussing its presence and abilities with the Builder after it had been brought aboard and given to the Red Racer to be examined. Beyond that it knew very little. But it yearned to know more. Ravage had been on this strange world for far longer than it. Perhaps Ravage could offer advice. It would be happy to simply have another beast to converse with, one that understand what it was trying to say.

Holding a genuine conversation with _someone_ was something it was also yearning for. The Decepticons acted so superior when around it but could not even understand one of their tribe mates. Hmph. So much for superiority. If they bothered to learn its language they would find its training much simpler. But they acted as if it couldn't speak at all.

It shifted its body in the launch bay used as its den, attempting to slip into power down. The Grey Flier had finished with it for the time being, so it was alone. Now its hide stung with electricity and pain. Anger bubbled in its spark, a spark it did not know was real or artificial, or if the spark was even its own at all. The anger was its though. It knew that. It did not want to fight back, as that would only cause trouble, but if the Flier refused to be gentler it _would_ lash out to get the message across. All it had done so far was growl and breath fire.

As it tried to slip under, its attention wandered to the night sky. It was not often it could glimpse it, but the Grey Flier had left the bay door open as he had fled in fright. Alien stars twinkled in a velvety dark indigo-violet sky, their electromagnetic songs mostly unrecognized though somehow still soothing. Wispy clouds streamed by as the warship grumbled on, each turned to shimmering silver from the light of a full alien moon that hung in the skies.

' _Why am I treated less? Why do they not understand I am speaking to them? Why...?_ '

This questioning was rather redundant as it had asked them before. But with another Predacon sharing airspace with it the need to have answers for these questions was growing.

The sound of a door hissing open followed by pedefalls entering the launch bays made its helm jerk up. It did not see another. There was a smell now though, one that it did not recognize as belonging to one of the crew. It let out an inquisitive screeching sound, tilting its helm around to try and absorb as much sound data as possible.

" _Hello? Is someone there?_ "

" _Huh. Overheard chatter that there was another Pred aboard. Didn't believe 'em._ "

Its optics narrowed and it hissed dangerously. It rose, amber wings flaring in a threat. That was the same voice it had heard during its rare sojourn off the ship into that strange place of wet and green and grey and many, many scents recently. The air shimmered to reveal Ravage's inky black form, red optics glaring in the dark.

" _Cool it, newbie. I'm not here to kill you. We're on the same side. Just stopped by to see if the chatter was true. Nice to meet another Pred. Haven't seen one for a long time. I thought all the Draconians on this planet had been killed off. Shockwave make you recently? Or did you manage to survive the Dragon Hunts?_ "

It hissed and said nothing. It wanted to speak but it was too tired and too sore to truly care about that right now.

" _Silent type, huh? So, Builder give you a name yet?_ "

" _No._ "

Ravage's audials pinned back. Onyx, and here he'd thought Shockwave was reticent. This guy made him look positively chatty. A whiff of ozone caught his attention before he could give an annoyed growl. He drew a few paces closer to get a better look at the Draconian. He was a touch surprised to see minor dents and dings and a few electrical burns on its body. No wonder the guy wouldn't talk to him. He was hurt.

" _Scuffle with the 'Bots?"_

" _No._ "

The Draconian coiled its tail in front of its snout in obvious dismissal. Ravage got the message and turned tail towards the door, vanishing from sight. Guy would probably be a lot more talkative once he was recovered. Draconians were always tetchier when healing. He'd try tomorrow. If they were going to be on the same team he'd best get to know him, and that'd be easier if he wasn't determined to use monosyllables.

It watched the doors hissed open, shut. Shutting its yellow optics it once more set about trying to power down, regretting it had been a bit brusque. The ache just made conversation more painful. It could speak better once it felt better. It just had to hope Ravage would return to speak with it. It looked forward to speaking with the hound, learning from it. Surely Ravage had many experiences he could share with it. And what was this about the "Dragon Hunts?" It wanted to know more about that. The Builder had not mentioned anything of the sort to it. Was it... _dangerous_ for a Predacon like it to be on this world, Autobots aside? Was there something else out there it needed to be wary of? If there was, why had the Builder not informed it?

Up in the corner of the main bay, a camera looked down into its bay. It did not see a red light on the device blink once. Then it went dark again.

* * *

"Running up against a wall" would be the perfect phrase to describe the situation the two Wreckers found themselves in.

They'd spent nearly twenty minutes searching for a means past the door. They'd even tried to yank the wing locks open. But no matter how much strength they used, no matter how much effort they poured into it, the door remained shut. It hadn't even budged by a micro-meter. Whoever had set up this door either really didn't want anyone getting in or had built it in such a way that brute force wasn't going to get them in. Regardless, Bulkhead gave one final yank on the bottom right wing as Wheeljack stood back. The feathered metal limb groaned but it remained in its place.

"It's no use, Bulk. Slagging thing won't budge. There's gotta be another way to open it."

Reluctantly the green Wrecker drew back, annoyed and stumped. "Any bright suggestions, then?"

Wheeljack stepped back up to the door to get a second look. He'd seen something like this before once, and he'd seen something like this in that _Indiana Jones_ movie Miko had shown him. He knew they weren't solving this by being impatient or flaunting their strength. This was...some kind of a puzzle door. Question then became: were there any hints around them that might help them figure out how to get it open? Something to do with the writing and the images on the walls maybe? Or something they'd seen before, outside?

"Might be a security measure to keep brainless looters out. Also, since we're dealing with a beast labeled as a god it might also be to keep the unworthy out. This is a test, I think. I think we have to show we're smart, not just strong."

Bulkhead got the feeling his pal was going somewhere with this. "And...?" he prompted.

A light went off in the white Wrecker's processor as he looked at the snitched scanner in his hand. He began toying with it as he spoke, scanning its hard drive for anything that might relate to this particular beast, its location, and the sealed door. As he searched the device he managed to find a translator. Bulkhead watched his friend scan the Mayan writing on the walls and the door itself, the broad violet beam sweeping over the ancient hieroglyphs. He tapped the scanner a few times as if to incite it to translate faster, a grin forming on his lip-plates. He knew better than to interrupt him now. He was in full-on investigator mode – and very, _very_ pleased with himself.

"Ha. Knew it. Shockwave had a cheat sheet. Check it out."

He held up the scanner, pointed the beam onto the door, and displayed the translated hieroglyphs:

 _Serpents three watched the lands_

 _Kukulcan the warrior, bringer-of-death, turned against his own_

 _Here he was sealed with his demon-horned brand_

 _Never again to seat his throne_

 _"_ Hah! Nice one 'Jackie!" cried Bulkhead. "But, uh...w-what's it mean?"

"Workin' on it."

He knew the words were a kind of sealing writ and warning all rolled into one. What the writ implied was even more interesting to him: Kukulcan _wasn't_ the only feathered serpent out there – he was one of three. Could he be one of a Trine of serpents, Quetzalcoatl as the second and another, unnamed one as the third? Kukulcan was also viewed as a traitor for "turning on his own." That was less clear. Did that mean he turned on the Maya or on his beast Trine? Both? Either could warrant his being sealed away, but that also meant Shockwave hadn't been the one to build this bunker or tomb or whatever this was supposed to be. Someone else had. And he refused to believe the Maya had done it on their own. There was no way they could've built something this complicated without outside help. There was also no way Kukulcan could've been defeated and put here by the Maya either. Capturing and sealing away a beast that size who was that powerful would be impossible for even a whole army of armed Maya. Even if they'd called on help from other cultures it still would've been next to impossible.

So did that mean help had come from one of the other two serpents? Or from some other party? Could this place have been built _before_ this – had it really acted as a place to live for Kukulcan – and simply refurbished as a prison for the snake?

"... _Sealed with his demon-horned brand..._ " he muttered. That sounded very familiar.

Wheeljack's optics focused on the carved necklace the door-bound serpent wore around its neck. It looked a lot like the one they'd seen topside in the other ruined structure that had opened the hidden passage. So maybe the same idea...?

He drew up to the door, braced himself, and pressed down on the carved pendant. He drew back quickly as it sank into an indentation behind it. Moments later came a low, bone-jarring grinding sound that made the earth around them tremble. The carved serpent's wings began to unfurl, revealing the rest of its serpentine body clambering up the door seam. When they were fully unfurled the doors began to grumble apart. Fine debris rained from above as ancient mechanisms long dormant activated once more. A wash of colder air swept over them, damp and long stale.

The white Wrecker drew his katanas once more. "Come on. But take it slow. We don't wanna tick this thing off if it's still online. I'm not sure if the kid can manage against a beast like this. Pit, I'm not sure the whole team combined could deal with this thing."

"Right behind ya." Out came the spiked maces.

They stalked into the gloom. Each tried to be as quiet as possible, but not really holding out hope they wouldn't be heard. Thanks to the kid, Grim, and Prowl's report after the encounter with the Gwyllgi they knew Preds had spectacular hearing compared to them. If the beast in here was still alive it probably already knew they were there. They were really hoping the beast was no longer alive. If it was still kicking...they were probably screwed. Could the doc even get a 'bridge down here with the place warping signals like there was no mañana? At least they wouldn't go down without a fight...

Through the dark, they could see the chamber itself was massive in scale but rather worn from age. Their headlights couldn't even reach the far side. They shut them off to keep cover, relying on infrared vision – even then it was hard to see. Still, the place was in surprisingly good condition from what they _could_ see. Bulkhead had to admit he was impressed – and more than a little suspicious. Buildings wore down if not kept in good shape. This place looked more or less the same as it had back when the Maya had still been around. That wasn't a good sign to him. _Somebody_ was keeping the chamber from crumbling. He turned to see the other side of the door and he was even less encouraged when he saw what looked like...oh boy...that wasn't a good sign...

"Uh...'Jackie?" he prompted.

Wheeljack was on the east side of the chamber. He glanced over at him: "Yeah?"

He merely pointed at the wall he was looking at. Two glowing blue orbs widened.

"Whoa...Are those...?"

Marring the south wall and what little showed of the open stone doors were hundreds of slashed indentations. Wheeljack judged them as coming from either thick, serrated claws like Grim's or Infernus's or some kind of sharp, heavy-handed weapon like an ax or maybe a spear head. This beast had tried repeatedly to get out...but it'd never managed. That meant it was still in here. So where...? The white Wrecker checked the scanner once more. Bulkhead wandered around the chamber as he did so. Signal warping was pretty bad in here but the signal was there. The blip was still there and it wasn't moving. It was right over...

"Bulk. Don't. Move." Wheeljack cautioned. "Look behind you. Carefully."

The green Wrecker turned slowly. Lying there, still as the grave and rusted almost beyond recognition, was a massive mech easily the size of a combiner, very tall and a bit on the skinny side of lanky. Metallic feathers, mostly rusted off, adorned his arms and legs, an elaborate helm crest resembling a headdress giving him a primal, savage, yet somehow regal appearance. On his chest, up closer towards his neck, was an easily recognizable horned crest: Decepticon. Beside him lay a gigantic spear, the tip practically rusted off, the head worn down from constant use. His mouth was formed into a snarl of pain, perhaps anger as well. But the rust was all the evidence Bulkhead needed.

"He's dead, 'Jackie." he said.

Wheeljack drew closer to examine the body with him. His colors were long since faded, but their now re-activated headlights revealed splotches of a once vibrant green and red color scheme with flecks of gold as accents. Not exactly colors associated with a villain or traitor. Then again, he hadn't turned right away. But...why _had_ the serpent turned against his own?

"What killed him?" Bulkhead wondered. "I don't see any wounds on him."

"Got a guess. Not pretty."

Bulkhead remained silent, waiting for his friend to answer.

"He was sealed in here, Bulk. Probably with only a minimal supply of Energon. For a mech this size that's pretty much a death sentence. When that supply ran out he tried escaping, burning up the Energon he had left in his systems –"

"And he never got out." Bulkhead finished. Realization dawned on him then. "He _starved_ to death. Aw, man. That's a bad way to go."

They knelt there in silence for a while. It was much better to die at the tip of a sword or from a blaster round. That way it was over with quickly. Death by energy starvation was one of the worst ways to die. It was slow, it was painful. You'd get weaker and weaker until you couldn't even stand, couldn't even move your body, with still enough left to keep vital systems going. And eventually, that'd get burned up, too. Not even stasis stopped it, just slowed it. That was a death not even hardened black ops soldiers like them would wish on anyone. That was torture, pure and simple.

"What about the signal you're getting?" Bulkhead asked after a moment more of silence. "What is it? Where's it coming from?"

Wheeljack rose, headed for the titan's helm, and held the scanner to the body. He walked down the body's length, coming to a stop near the chest. He tossed the scanner to his friend and clambered up. He knew where the signal was coming from – the crest. Or more accurately, beneath it. Obvious place to hide it. Hey, guy was dead. Not like he'd mind getting opened up at any rate. It was for a good cause. So he drove one of his katanas into the rusted chassis, carving around the crest. The rust made it easier, having left the armor brittle. Soon a small gap was made in the Predacon's armor. Inside was a little flat hexagonal piece of metal with wires weaving on it. A tiny violet light shone dimly on the small device. He reached in and retrieved it.

"Got it. Looks like some kinda micro chip."

He jumped down, stowing the katana. He turned to the doors.

"Let's get this back to the doc and –"

But he stopped cold at what he saw in the doorway. Bulkhead saw it, too.

A mech stood there, a titan who resembled the body in the chamber. But the colors where different as were aspects of his design. He was somewhat heftier in build than Kukulcan, more resembling a powerful warrior king. His colors were brighter, consisting of bronzes, eggshell whites, and reds. Shimmering coppery-red optics bored through the darkness at them. The stranger bore the same metal feathered headdress as the body. In one hand was held a great ax. A pair of massive wings were folded behind it.

" _¿Cómo se atreve a ingresar en terrenos ajenos aquí?_ " hissed the newcomer in a powerful voice that bubbled with venom. The hand gripping the ax tightened. A growling hiss escaped his vocalizer.

They took a step back. Wheeljack instinctively drew his katanas, anticipating a fight. Bulkhead was slightly less trigger happy with his own maces. This was not someone they wanted to tangle with. He could tell that just by looking at him. That ax would make ribbons of them both as it crushed them. If their fight with the bronze dragon was any hint they'd probably do even worse against this guy. Not only was he bigger, he also seemed _smarter._ But that intelligence might be their saving light. If they could reason with the mech...

' _Oh, sure. That'll happen_ _–_ _when Optimus comes back to life._ ' a part of him deadpanned.

Because like it or not, Wheeljack was right – they were Wreckers, black ops soldiers. They were _not_ diplomats. They were trained to get in, eliminate or secure the targets, cripple the enemy in the process if they could, then get the hell back to base. Under those terms this could only end in tears. They didn't stand a chance against a beast this size. It'd be smarter to just abandon ship...but the beast mech was blocking their only way out. If they tried to flee they'd probably get killed. Staying here with their weapons drawn probably wasn't doing much to get him chummy with them either. They _could_ try to call in for an assist but the Pred would no doubt catch on and get mad at them. But it was worth a shot. Better shot than the door anyway. Infernus had managed with Grim, so they had to hope Infernus could manage with this beast, too.

The white Wrecker raised a hand to his right audial to open a comm. channel back to base. He spoke as calmly and quietly as he could manage. "We could use some help here, kid...We got company. And he ain't lookin' pleased with us."

It was not a good sign when the growling hiss increased in volume, the ax rising with it. Beast spoke Spanish but he seemed to understand English, too. Or maybe he recognized the set of motions made by a 'bot when they radioed for outside help to come. Which could mean they were both about to die very painful deaths. Now he and Bulk had to hope the signal warping didn't mess with outside comms. But before they could receive an answer, the towering Predacon approached them, ax in hand. A low frequency growl made the stale air around them vibrate.

* * *

Razorplume was unlike his brother youngest brother who lay dead in the chamber. He did not rush into a situation in a blind, berserker frenzy as his brother had been so apt to do. As the second oldest of the Serpent Trine he understood the value of analyzing a situation twice or three times over to prevent miscommunication. He still listened to the sage advice of his oldest brother Sunwarden, whom the ancient native Inca had dubbed Viracocha, who still lived deep beneath the mountains of Peru.

But it was hard to be lenient when this was the sight that met him: two Autobots in the tomb of his dead brother, his body tampered with, and their weapons drawn. The faction meant little to him. He had cut ties with his Decepticon masters after centuries of no communication with them. He could care less about factions at this point in his life, disconnected as he was from them. But no matter the politics, he still cared about his dead brother despite what he had become. Desecration was a crime punishable by death in his culture. To disturb the dead was an affront on par with murder.

Still, the ancient Predacon codes of honor demanded he at least hear them out. They were here for a reason, not because they were criminals or looters, though it certainly seemed that way. And they spoke the English tongue.

"What are you doing here, Autobots? What brought you to trespass in this place of pain and death?"

He saw both of the Autobots exchange nervous glances, but there was some relief in them as well.

"Ah...before we answer that, could we get a name first? Just to make this easier on us both?" asked the green Autobot. He could smell the fear on him and his ally.

He stifled a growl, feeling they were avoiding the question. But it only made sense to exchange designations. He lowered the ax. At the least they were being civil with him. That was more than he could say of others.

"I am known by the natives as Quetzalcoatl, but my spark-name is Razorplume. Now tell me – what brought you here and what do you think you are doing desecrating my brother's tomb and body?" he growled. "If you fail to convince me this will become your tomb as well. I do not tolerate such foul behavior or deeds. Speak!"

* * *

 **Author's Note: Slightly shorter than my usual fare here but I've not had as much time to write since I'm reduced to using the family desktop. I: Meaning in short I can't write nonstop for hours on end.**

 **Update: Laptop is fixed and good as new! Better even! Also, little note: Technically the name Razorplume is Foxbear's, so yeah. Name belongs to her. Credit goes to her. Just using it for the story. Couldn't find a cannon name to fit this guy. Airrazor was an option for him, but eh. Just didn't sound good enough.**


	22. Chapter 22: Rise of the Serpents Part 3

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 22

* * *

The Serpent's warning echoed around the chamber like a war horn's call, a threatening yet valorous sound. He remained in the doorway like a great guard dog, ax at his side and copper-red optics watching them. This really was someone to fear – yet he was also someone to respect. That he hadn't attacked them so far was a good sign. The beast wanted an explanation for their presence, and dead mechs offered no answers. Still, that glare in his copper-red optics warned them of the lethal consequences if they failed to explain convincingly why they were both there and desecrating the corpse of one of his Trine mates.

"I am waiting." Razorplume prompted in a growl. "My patience has its limits, Autobots. Speak, before it grows too thin."

Both Autobots a bit shakily introduced themselves. The green one was known as Bulkhead and the white one was Wheeljack. They were Wreckers. At that a growl escaped the titan in the doorway. He knew of these Wreckers. Shockwave had uploaded basic information about them to his creations should they ever encounter them. They were a specialized black ops team who worked outside the typical chain of command. If Shockwave's reports were true, honor was something quite foreign to them. Yet...these two did not act ruthless, Bulkhead in particular. Aside from their Wrecker affiliation they seemed...rather decent, circumstances aside.

Razorplume frowned slightly. Introductions now out of the way, it was time to begin with the real questions: "Why are you here? What is it you were after? You will not find Energon nor weapons here. All you will find in this place is death."

Wheeljack and Bulkhead shared glances. The white Wrecker then produced an odd little device small enough to fit in his open palm. In the darkness the little violet light on it blinked on and off a bit unsteadily. The Serpent's large optics focused on it curiously, one brow ridge rising. He did not recognize it. The blinking light though reminded him a little too much of a bomb timer ticking down. But he could detect no chemicals inside it that might indicate an explosive double nature. Were the chemicals simply undetectable? Or was this something entirely different? It _was_ emitting some sort of signal.

"Don't take our word for this 'cause we're not sure, but we got reason to believe this is some sorta tracker chip. Thinkin' you might have one, too. Think that's how he's findin' beasts so easy. Shockwave's goin' around collecting dead beasts so he can clone them. And then he'll use them to wipe out us and help Megatron take over the planet. I think this is kind of a given, but we're not about to let that happen. So we're trying to beat him at his own game."

The Serpent's optics widened. The Builder was reviving the dead, just as he had in the past? He was bringing them all back? Then that meant...He looked over at the rusted corpse in the chamber, pain twinging in his spark. It would be wonderful to have his youngest brother back but...Razorplume sighed in mild agony. The risk was too great. Divebomb was too volatile, too powerful for either side to control. Reviving him would only spell disaster for both parties. This world had changed him into something despicable and dangerous. He had lost his sense of honor, transforming into a violent, dark mirror of his former self. He sighed again softly, shaking his helm, then returned his focus to the Wreckers. The pain was still fresh even after almost four centuries, the emptiness in his spark still present.

That was why he was so affronted that these two strangers had the gall to come in and desecrate his brother's corpse. Cruel as Divebomb had become, he did not deserve to be torn open to further a war effort he had long lost interest in.

Wheeljack and Bulkhead kept up with their explanations. The reason they thought it a tracker chip was because of a group of Vehicon troopers topside at a ruin that connected to this place. Bulkhead had overheard the words "chip signal" when eavesdropping.

"You may have one, too. If you don't want Shockwave buggin' ya, get rid of it if you haven't already."

Razorplume offered a wry smile and told them that there had only been one signal found by the troops, yes? That was because he and Sunwarden had never been outfitted with one that he remembered. That was why he didn't recognize the device. So long as Shockwave knew where one brother was, he could manipulate that one to find the location of the others. That, and to begin with they never strayed far from each other. The Builder had no doubt not anticipated them being hundreds, even thousands of klicks apart. But he preferred it that way; less of a chance of the Builder finding them again.

The two mechs blinked at that. He didn't want to work for the 'Cons? He'd switched sides?

"No. I obey no side now. I merely wish to protect this place, this region, and my only living brother from harm. We are warriors, Wrecker, but we no longer wish to wage war. I defend and teach. My brother teaches only. He is old now, no longer in his prime. He slumbers to this day beneath the area known now as Peru. We simply want to be left in peace, but we will defend our respective territories should anyone trespass. I will not let the Builder revive Divebomb. You can be certain of that."

Wheeljack winced. Well, that wasn't exactly shaking hands. That probably applied to both factions. If 'Bots came in this area they'd be torn apart. If 'Cons came in they'd be torn apart. Funny though – Bulk had mentioned cartels were a bit of a problem in this part of the world. Did the Serpents only defend against threats against themselves then? Or, and here was a possible kicker – _did they not know about them_? No one had ever reported seeing a giant flying snake in the area. Had they been in stasis this whole time, and had their trespassing woken the titan in the doorway somehow? That's how some of Shocky's labs on Cybertron had worked. He'd place Insecticon sentinels to act as guards, and if anyone tripped the security measures they would wake up and kill the intruders.

He cleared his vocalizer a bit awkwardly and apologized for messing with the body. He hadn't really realized Predacons held such respect for the dead. He'd tried to keep the damage to a minimum, emphasis of "tried." Hopefully the opening in him wasn't big enough to bother him. He wasn't encouraged when the titan glowered at him and growled, his hand clenching around the handle of his ax. Whoops. Wrong thing to say.

"Uh...W-What's the story with the guy any way?" Bulkhead asked warily. "That carving out there said he went traitor. Who'd he turn on? Why? I thought Preds were all about the whole loyalty gig. Y'know unless they got a really, _really_ good reason to go to the other side."

Razorplume's gaze lifted to once more look at the rusted corpse. The Wreckers were stunned to see any harshness in his countenance melt away, replaced by deep, poignant sadness. He ran the ax head into the stone of the door's threshold, preventing easy egress. He did not want them leaving just yet. He came towards them, the ground trembling under his titanic weight. They wanted answers and so answers they would receive. They had successfully convinced him their purpose here was relatively harmless. They deserved to know at the very least. They could take this sorry tale as a warning lesson when dealing with the less savory individuals of his species. Not all were civil. Many in fact considered Cybertronians like Wheeljack and Bulkhead as hapless _bocadillo_.

He knelt by the body for a moment, then began to speak:

"I do not hazard to guess what little you know of my race, Autobots. I will tell you now that we are hunters by nature. In the distant past, before the Cataclysm, we hunted others to obtain their Energon when it was not readily available on our homeworld. If the Builder's information is to be believed, we also apparently hunted your infant race, nearly into extinction. While I am nothing more than an echo of who I was then, I admit I...see things in my dreams. Echos. I know somehow it is me, yet not me. Memories that are mine, yet not mine." He shuttered his optics.

 _Memories flashed before his mind's optic. The rush of wind and the soft rattling of metallic feathers and wings. Beside him flew two other Serpents who did not resemble his own brothers. Hunger glinted in their optics as they scanned the land below for prey. Far beneath them a group of unusual looking mechs and a femme wandered, ones who did not bear resemblance to his kind. Their armor was not as dense and they lacked fangs and claws. An updraft of wind brought the sweet, tempting smell of hot Energon to the giant hunters. They hissed at one another, exchanging greedy glances._

His optics snapped open again. He had seen that echo many times. The aftermath was not something he enjoyed seeing, but for a while some deep part of him had struggled against his natural hunting instinct. He would not become a ravenous savage. Thankfully Sunwarden had helped him fight back against the echoes. He too suffered from them, but it was part of who they were he said. Better to accept the past than fight it needlessly. They were not hunters, not any longer. They were lords, teachers, and noble warriors to the little natives of this planet. Why could they not be so to themselves as well?

But Divebomb had been too much a warrior, his echoes too strong. Thus, he had become a _cazador_ : a Hunter.

"While our echos and instincts quelled in time, Divebomb's – the one you know as Kukulcan – only surged. He became more aggressive, more territorial as time passed. The culture I assisted, the Aztec, soon began to see me in a similar light, but I did my best to oppose their lethal rituals. He never hunted the natives thankfully, as they offered no sustenance, but he did hunt the small numbers of Cybertronians who stayed here sporadically in the past, even hunting fellow beasts in the region small enough for him to consume. A few came after one too many hunts to plead with him to leave them be. They wanted no conflict with him or us – they simply wanted to survive and avoid the atrocity of the Great War. Divebomb made it seem he agreed...and then he hunted each member of the group. My eldest brother and I were left with no other choice but to put him down."

' _The picture on the door._ ' Wheeljack realized. ' _He wasn't devouring a human. He was devouring a 'Bot! Primus! It was a warning for us!_ '

 _Memories more recent took shape. The three serpents screamed and hissed in the skies over the Temple of Kukulcan, writing and biting at one another with their fangs. Below, three Neutrals watched the battle from the ground with the gathered Maya who watched in dismay and awe-struck terror at the sight above. A few wailed that the end of days had come. Another Predacon of the Mayan region Divebomb had guarded, a lizard-like mech whom the natives had taken to calling Itzamna, stood atop one of the great step pyramids with a glittering bow, an arrow tipped with a powerful nerve poison he could produce naturally. He had once been loyal to Divebomb, even befriending him. But when the fierce guardian had become the ravenous hunter, he had understood the threat. A beast gone feral could not see to his mission, could not effectively tend to his territory._

 _When a split second window opened above him he drew back the energy string...and fired._

 _The arrow whisked up into the skies, narrowly avoiding the hides of Sunwarden and Razorplume, and soundly buried itself into Divebomb's mid-section. The youngest of the Serpent Trine let out a rasping scream at the pain the embedded weapon produced. Seizing the opportunity, the two older Serpents bore down on him, ensuring his earth-shaking fall. The ground itself trembled when the titan landed. He thrashed helplessly for a bit, tail destroying a portion of the temple with one swish. Soon he went still._

"We debated simply rehabilitating him, teaching him to control his hunting urges." Razorplume explained softly. "But Sunwarden – known to the Inca as Viracocha – said that it might be too late for that. I trust his judgement far more than my own. He said Divebomb had sunken too far into the past to be pulled out. So...we decided instead to imprison him. It was a cruel lesson my brother learned through him. We gave him enough Energon to survive if he used it wisely, even donating some of our to begin with. But when the reserves began to dwindle around the time the _conquistadors_ arrived we could no longer offer our own, and we needed to help the people of our regions as well as we could without revealing ourselves. We failed on both accounts. Our cultures died away, and when we went to check on Divebomb after they had left the region, which unfortunately took far too long for our liking, we came in and found him clinging to life by a thread."

 _The two remaining Serpents knelt by the body of their dying Trine mate. The air within the chamber seemed weighted, heavy. Divebomb's air cycles were slow and shallow, his body nearly devoid of the energy it needed to keep functioning. Craving flashed in his optics on scenting the fresh fuel in their bodies. He tried to rise but couldn't. Life-giving energy within arm's reach_ _–_ _but he would never have it._

 _"Proud...now?" he hissed weakly. "Condemning...one of...your own?"_

 _Sunwarden put a hand on him. Pain swam in his pale gold optics. "We never wanted it to come to this, little brother. But you proved yourself unable carry on. A beast gone feral is a danger to all. You gave in to the Past and the Old Hunger."_

 _"Can't we help him?" Razorplume pleaded. Seeing him like this was painful in a way words failed to describe. His spark cried out to the dimming light in his youngest brother's chassis. He recieved only a whimper of what had once been a fiery, powerful soul._

 _Divebomb's air cycles suddenly came faster as he felt some of his non-vital systems shut down. Panic quite un-befitting of a beast of his status coursed through him. He did not want to die. Death was for the prey, not the Hunter. To have his death be so ignoble and, yes, humiliating was just adding salt into the wound. A Hunter did not deserve to die like this. He deserved to die in a thrill of power and glory. But he felt more systems, vital and non-vital dim to permanent inactivity. His vision blurred._

 _Sunwarden muttered an old blessing in the Predacon language. It was old Predacon belief that a beast would not go to the Allspark, but to Onyx's personal realm known simply as the Hunting Grounds. There, they could hunt to their spark's content until the very stars in the sky went cold under the eternal watch of the First Beast. For a hunter like Divebomb this would be a paradise. But he personally wished to see the true realm of the dead when his count of days finally ended, the one open to all so long as they were in harmony with the core: the Allspark._

 _"Slag...you...to the Pit!" Divebomb snarled as he finished, helm rising an inch off the stony ground._

 _It fell back with a faint thud. His optics dimmed to black, and he did not move again. Razorplume and Sunwarden said their farewells. They then left the chamber and sealed it. The great door shut with a heavy sounding thud, and the metal wing locks folded into place. Every year the middle Serpent would come to the tomb to maintain it and pay his respects._

Razorplume could still hear that great door's sealing echo to this very day. Every time he came to tend to the tomb, every time those great doors opened and closed, it was just a haunting reminder of the fact that he had helped to kill one of his own Trine mates.

* * *

There was about a five minute's silence as all the information sank in. The titan remained by the body, helm bowed, optics shuttered. He truly was a noble warrior king. Infernus would've liked this guy.

"Wow. That sucks." Bulkhead summed up lamely.

Wheeljack was a bit curious though. Divebomb had seemed a pretty intelligent type of mech like the his two brothers; he'd just been more impulsive and volatile. So either he was just weak-willed compared to his Trine mates...or something had pushed him to go over the edge, to return to his former state of a savage hunter. Or maybe even _someone_ had done so. He knew as well as the rest of the team the dangerous horror that slumbered miles beneath their pedes. He wouldn't put it past Unicron to toy with a volatile Decepticon in the hopes of adding a kamikaze predator to his arsenal of puppets. Funny though – Razorplume hadn't mentioned Dark Energon or Unicron. Looked like he believed his theory of old instinct overriding any civility. Wheeljack wasn't so sure.

His green friend hesitated, then asked: "So...we can take the chip, right?"

"I want no more part in this war of yours, Autobot. Do what you will with it. But I repeat you will not be adding me or my brother to your ranks. We wish to be left alone. If anyone trespasses here or in my brother's territory, we will be indiscriminate. Faction matters little. All are invaders."

That hammered the final nail into the coffin of possible support from the twin serpents. Another potential ally to fight Megatron's growing Predacon army was lost. Razorplume rose and went over to tug his ax free of the ground, thus opening the way out. Silently he motioned for them to leave. They made their way towards the great stone doors. To their surprise though, the titan followed them out after a moment's pause, sealing the doors behind them.

"You will not be able to leave without my help." he explained. "I will do you that one courtesy."

"Oh. Thanks."

The three walked in silence until they reached the watery antechamber with the altar and the skulls. There they beheld the privileged of seeing the great beast transform. His limbs folded in and vanished, his wings shifting position and unfurling. In moments the antechamber was holding a massive egg-shell white and bronze serpent with vibrant red geometric accents along his body, his lower half coiled in the cool water. His metal feathers and headdress seemed far more fitting in this shape than in his mech form. Really, it was a wonder he fit in the place at all, but somehow he managed. The Serpent then lowered his plumed helm and hissed at them both.

Unable to understand Predacon, both mechs brought out their weapons instinctively. Was this some sort of double cross?

Razorplume eyed them severely and shook his helm, then lifted it up towards the opening, then lowered it back down.

"You...you want us to get on?" Wheeljack hazarded, releasing the grip on his katanas. "You're gonna lift us up or something?"

He recieved a nod in reply before stretching his wings. He was not quite tall enough to do as the white Wrecker suggested, so he instead would ferry them up to the surface. He let them clamber on to positions a few helms down from his neck. Once certain they were hanging on, he spread his wings and spiraled upwards. The late afternoon skies drew nearer and nearer. The trip was short, less than fifteen seconds. He flew out of the opening, arced around, and came to rest on the jungle floor. He let his passengers off.

"Uh...thanks. Y'know. For not maiming us." said Wheeljack.

"We'll do our best not to tick you off again." added Bulkhead.

Razorplume bowed his helm and, unleashing a hissing scream, rocketed upwards into the skies. To their astonishment his massive form shimmered like a mirage to be replaced with that of a fairly regularly sized privately owned plane labeled with the _Aeromexico_ logo. Now _that_ was a trick they hadn't anticipated. Had Shockwave outfitted each snake with a hologram generator, or had they implemented them themselves? If they squinted they could just make out the fluxing holographic field around it, but it was barely noticeable. By the time a minute and a half had ticked by, Razorplume was gone from sight, lost to the distance. Judging by his heading, he was headed southward.

Bulkhead lifted a hand to one of his audials: "Hey, Ratch? We need a 'bridge home." He looked at the still faintly blinking chip in 'Jackie's hand. "We got a present for you."

"And one heck of a story." Wheeljack added.

* * *

Infernus bounded in from outside the moment he heard the tell-tale whoosh of the groundbridge. Thanks to some help from Mark, Adrian, Katelyn, and Grimwing, he'd actually more or less forgotten about the Wreckers and his anxiety for a time. Well, okay that was kind of a lie – he'd forgotten about his anxiety, not the Wreckers. But it had been nice for once to not worry himself into blind panic. He'd been sinking into that habit lately. Worry wasn't productive – but fighting it was. He'd left the Thunderbird in their care for the time being. He trusted him to stay out of trouble around them.

He found Bulkhead and Wheeljack still pretty well covered in muck. He couldn't resist grinning a bit. Poor guys needed a hose down. He was even happy to note that none bore injuries. They looked...actually, they looked fine. He was honestly surprised at that. Had there been no living beast to fight? Or had it been polite enough not to maim them? The second one'd just label them as stupidly lucky. Ratchet hadn't gotten any communications from them once they'd started exploring the antechamber...so what had happened?

"Got a present for ya, doc."

Wheeljack smirked, held up a strange little hexagonal, flat device with a faintly blinking violet light, and waggled it in the medic's direction. Ratchet's previously irritated expression at the unwanted nickname was replaced with surprise. Intrigue soon joined it.

Miko pounced on the strange find in an instant. She rushed over to the railings and leaned over excitedly. "Cool! What is it?! Some kinda smart bomb?"

Jack and Raf looked at the device, then exchanged puzzled glances. Something told them it wasn't a weapon but something far more useful.

"Give it here, give it here." Ratchet motioned. "Let's see what it is you found."

Still smirking, Wheeljack approached and flicked the device over to him like a coin. The medic caught it a bit clumsily, tossing him a glare that plain as day told him not to do that again or he'd murder him himself and hide the body where no one would ever find it. This merely earned him a bigger smirk. He glanced around to see Infernus glowering at the white Wrecker with a playful smile, earning a loud chuckle from Bulkhead. That look alone, while friendly, was a warning for him not to push his luck with Ratchet too much.

The medic set about examining the strange little device, holding it up to his optic to get a better look. "Hmm..."

"What? What is it?" Arcee demanded. She, and frankly everyone there, had never seen anything quite like it before.

"I don't know what I was expecting you two to bring back, but I certainly wasn't expecting anything like this." Ratchet looked at the Wreckers quizzically. "You're lucky this hangar has electromagnetic shielding. We'd have Decepticons knocking down our doors in minutes if we didn't."

* _It's some kinda tracker chip or something?_ * whistled the resident scout.

Ratchet nodded, explaining it was, more accurately, a sub-mesh micro-chip. It might explain Shockwave's ease in locating beasts whether they were alive or dead. All he had to do was activate the chip, tap into the signal, and follow it.

He turned back to the Wreckers: "I assume you found this in the antechamber or someplace beyond it? We lost contact with you after a point."

Each Wrecker exchanged glances.

"Eh, n-not exactly..." Bulkhead began.

Together they explained what had occurred once field-to-base communications had gone to the Pit. Ultra Magnus looked stunned to hear of their success in avoiding a fight with such a beast, even if they had walked a thin line to begin with. That further cemented these beasts were intelligent and some were inherently civil. Perhaps they adhered to some variety of social code? He'd never read of them having done so, but he was no archivist. He would ask Grimwing. He might know. _He_ certainly was civil and honorable.

Infernus looked pained but understanding of Razorplume's decision. Being forced to kill a Trine mate because they'd essentially gone rabid was bound to hurt in a lot of ways. The lesson Divebomb had been taught was a harsh one, but he kind of got why they'd chosen to teach it that way. Depriving someone of whatever it was they craved was supposed to help teach control through abstinence. He hadn't actually been cut off completely though; he'd had a supply that, if used in moderation, could last him a long time. Divebomb had not taken the lesson to spark, and it had killed him in the end. It served to remind the young Prime that beasts were very different from them; that, though civil and honorable and intelligent, they were still much more savage, more primal than they were.

"So does that mean he's gonna join the 'Cons?" Jack asked.

Bulkhead looked up at him: "No. Guy made it pretty clear he wouldn't be a gun for either side. Just wants to be left alone. Same goes for his brother, Sunwarden or Viracocha or whatever you wanna call 'im. Anyone, 'Bot, 'Con, goes onto his turf without permission, he'll...I guess do what any territorial beastie would do: kill 'em or chase 'em off. Guy wants nothing to do with the war anymore. Dunno about his bro, but I think he might be the same."

"Aww!" Miko and Bluestreak whined in unison.

"Still..." Ultra Magnus hemmed. "It might be best that beasts of their caliber remain neutral. Neither side can make use of them then. If we stay out of the region and the Decepticons do not, they might indirectly assist us by dealing with the invaders."

"Uh, do you have any idea how many potential Preds are in Central and South America, sir?" Raf chirped up from behind his laptop. He'd been looking in to a lot of the Aztec, Mayan, and Incan deities and the sheer number of them that might be Predacons was dizzying. Some were beasts, some were half-beasts, some had the shape of a man and the shape of an animal. Some even had multiple beast shapes or were a conglomeration of two beasts. It was a menagerie of weird.

"Be that as it may, at least in these two beasts territories we needn't worry about Decepticon interference. They will keep them away from the region for us, even if they are not allied with us."

Raf blinked. "Oh." That made sense.

"Any 'Con activity in El Paso and Scotland since we last checked?" Infernus asked, changing the subject.

Ratchet shook his helm. No. However that didn't mean they weren't already at the Scotland site. They could be beneath the bluffs, thus invisible to the satellite scanners. There was no activity in Texas but that could change in anywhere from minutes to an hour or so depending on how far the warship was from the location and whether or not they would use the groundbridge. Even though they had far more resources they would not use them wantonly, especially now that they were allocating more to another project. In fact, they could have been to any number of underground sites by now, and they would be none the wiser.

Infernus muttered a curse. Frigging fantastic. Of course, a lot of these beasts probably had underground or nicely hidden dens, some of which might even be shielded against radar.

"But..."

All optics and eyed riveted on Ratchet in an instant.

"I might be able to hijack the frequency Shockwave uses to find beasts. Maybe then we'll stand more of a fighting chance. We wouldn't be able to get a head start per say because Shockwave has to activate the micro-chip's signal out of its 'idle' state, as he did here, but at least then we might be on equal footing then."

"Now _that_ we can work with."

"It will take some time however. I have to be sure Shockwave can't trace the hijacked signal, and we all know how thorough he can be. If he can trace it, it could lead the entirety of the Decepticon forces to our front doorstep."

* _You just gotta be a killjoy, don't you_? _*_ buzzed the scout. * _Still, I guess no risk, no reward. Right?_ *

"Precisely. But I will do what I can to make that risk marginal at best. In the meantime – Bulkhead, Wheeljack. Get cleaned up. I'd rather not have mud and the like getting all over my equipment. I don't think Bryce would be happy with you mucking up the hangar as a whole, either. And put that deep-pulse scanner back where it belongs before you break it. It's too useful to get smashed to pieces by any sort of carelessness or roughhousing that I know you are so apt to do."

Wheeljack blinked, looked more than a tad offended, and appealed to Infernus for an assist: "What? You're not gonna defend me?"

The Primeling looked to consider for a moment. But soon enough a playful smirk formed and he shook his helm. "Nope."

"Oh come on!"

"No. Ratchet's got a point. Also, I could pull rank on you. You want me to do that? Turn a nice little request into an order? Or would you like me to go dragon on you and just drag your butt over to the auto-shop hangar instead? That'd be waaay funnier."

He put the deep-pulse scanner on the ground and drew his katanas.

"Oh, go on, kid. Try. I freakin' dare you. Come on. Come at me."

Bulkhead, Bluestreak, Bumblebee, Jack and Miko all laughed. Wheeljack was playing with fire in the most literal way possible.

Infernus merely smirked, blue optics flashing with a fire all their own. He wanted to do this the hard way? Fine. He'd do it the hard way. Fun and training mixed together anywho. He transformed in a flourish and darted towards the white Wrecker. He feinted leaping, making Wheeljack ready to block him from a high angle. But instead he lunged towards his leg, spun round, and used his tail to trip him up before he could compensate. He fell with a crash and quickly tried to rise. Before he could, Infernus clamped his jaws around his leg and proceeded to drag him by his ankle into the compound.

"Bulk! A little help here?!" he exclaimed, trying his best to get a grip on the asphalt all while still holding his swords. Needless to say that wasn't working very well. In the end he let go of the hilts to try and keep the kid from dragging him any further. But the sad part about asphalt was that it was flat, so it offered no hand grips.

His friend merely laughed that 'Jackie had gotten himself into this. His job to get himself out.

"Traitor!" he shouted.

Bulkhead laughed again and told him to hold on – he was coming.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Tah-dah! Another chapter. And the first ever truly faction-less Predacons to be introduced. Also, there's another Aztec deity that has me _very_ curious: Cipactli. Not because he's a Predacon, but because he behaves eerily like a certain somebody beneath the ground...**


	23. Chapter 23: Teaching the Young

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 23

* _Lemme clarify something: the "memory echoes" the Serpent Trine experienced are not unique. Many of Shockwave's clones suffered from them to some degree once they'd physically and mentally matured; it's just that it some cases they're far more vivid and amplified, and occur more frequently. That means incidentally that Ravage has suffered from them as well, and Predaking will eventually. The reason for the echoes will be explained eventually. It has to do with copied genetics, coding, and another thing that might make this whole thing a little clearer, because Cybertronian cloning is very different from organic cloning. Just be patient ;)_

 _*Also, here's a little glimpse at the enigmatic Sunwarden! :3_

 _Note 1: Despite what you might think, there aren't actually very many Preds left alive today on Earth. Remember Ravage's reference to the "Dragon Hunts"..._

 _Bit of a lull chapter here, but with ramifications. Also, kinda funny._

* * *

Katelyn and Adrian were busy re-painting a badly banged up Jeep. One of the newbies had been assigned as a driver and had taken a few of his buddies for a joyride into the desert the night before. The Jeeps could handle a beating, but only so much of a beating. The damage wasn't terrible but it bore a number of dings and scratches from the rugged terrain nearer the bottom of the basin. In Katelyn's opinion the driver had been a little tipsy, while Adrian believed them to just be inexperienced. Anyone totally sober (or with enough behind-the-wheel time) wouldn't get a sturdy Jeep this beaten up when driving it around.

"Man. We have aliens – _freaking aliens_ _–_ living on site and we're stuck fixing Jeeps?" Adrian said in an annoyed sigh from beneath the Jeep. Its under-carriage had gotten the worst of the joy ride, and some hoses were mis-aligned. "I mean, w-what about that, uh – the giant bird guy? Grimwing? I mean, why won't they let us help with that? He's a machine. We can repair a machine. Totally. They're letting Mark do it!"

"Probably because it's _way_ past our pay-grade?" Katelyn hazarded matter-of-factly. Her little brother didn't seem to understand that there was a gigantic difference between an ordinary Earth vehicle and a hyper-advanced alien from another planet. The difference gap was only made wider when the alien did not have a vehicle form but an animal one. A bird or a dragon was a far cry from a Jeep or a Honda.

Adrian looked ready to offer a retort when a very weird noise met their ears that was steadily growing louder. It sounded like someone had flipped a car onto its hood and was dragging the poor vehicle across the pavement. The mechanic in him was nearly outraged. Who in the blue Hell would drag a perfectly nice car across the pavement and get it all scratched up? Was the person totally mental? Then it struck him that no _human_ could pull that feat off unless they were, like, the Hulk or something. There was only one source that could be dragging a car or whatever was being dragged: a Cybertronian. For all he knew another Cyber was the one being dragged.

"Oh my..." he heard his sister say.

Then she burst out laughing.

The younger man shimmied his way out from under the Jeep frantically to see what had gotten such a response from his sister. The sight he saw coming towards the hangar nearly floored him from laughter.

It was Infernus, but he was coming in tail-first. Bulkhead was beside him, grinning and mud-stained. Held in the white dragon's fanged jaws was the foot of another white alien with green and red accents whose white owner wasn't quite so pristine as that of the dragon merrily dragging him along. Like his green friend he also bore quite a lot of mud on him. It looked like the white alien had basically given up on getting his foot out of the Prime's mouth at some point along the way. Though they couldn't see his face, the way his arms were held signaled he'd given up trying to fight back on the way over – his helm was resting on his folded arms like someone who was just plain bored.

"Ya done?" the white mech griped.

The mech's foot was released, plopped onto the ground. Infernus turned and sat on his haunches like a dog expecting a treat for having performed a trick.

"You dragged him...all the way here?" Katelyn gawked. A pause. " _By his foot_?"

Infernus bobbed his helm in confirmation. Bulkhead sniggered only to have his friend glare up at him as he pushed himself to his pedes. He thus stifled himself with effort. 'Jackie had complained and fought back for about two minutes straight before resigning himself to his fate with a huff of irritation. Infernus hadn't even given him the dignity of walking the rest of the way. He'd just kept on happily dragging a seasoned Wrecker by his ankle, relishing the fun of it. It had taken a lot of Bulkhead's will power not to laugh the whole time.

Adrian cracked up all over again. " _Dios mío_ , dude! Seriously? You're frigging hilarious! And here I thought one of you guys was torturing a car for God knows what reason!"

The look of baffled, somewhat insulted shock Infernus gave him in return to that statement was utterly priceless. That was the look of someone asking himself exactly _why_ someone of his species (or any species, really) would torture a poor innocent car that had been minding its own business. Shaking his helm as if to put that mystery to the back burner for the time being, the white dragon shifted back to a mech. No matter how many times the aliens shifted forms it still left the two Gonzales's speechless. It was just so seamless!

"I got a favor to ask of you guys."

The twins exchanged mischievous looks. What they were thinking at that point in time and space was anyone's guess.

"Does it have anything to do with the mud?" asked Katelyn smilingly.

Infernus looked at her. He blinked. "You're good." Then he explained: "Yeah. Ratchet _kind of_ sort of...well, he banned Bulkhead and Wheeljack from coming back inside until they get cleaned up. Doesn't want them mucking up his equipment and also doesn't wanna annoy Mr. Uppity Bryce by getting his hangar all muddy. So could you give 'em a hose down?"

"Totally!" Adrian affirmed with a wicked grin. "Come on you two. Let's get you over to one of the wash bays."

Adrian darted further into the long hangar, Katelyn right on his heels. The Prime watched them set up one of the empty bays, watched as Bulkhead transformed and rolled into the space. Katelyn busily got everything up and running and soon the big lug was soaked and sudsy. Wheeljack milled to one side, still looking bored and irritated. One digit tapped against his folded arms. Infernus almost smiled. Ratchet and he had never gotten along, and the doc could be a little exacting at times when it came to certain things like neatness. Personally he was on Ratchet's side in this argument. If it kept the military happy, kept the equipment clean, and kept the humans from possibly getting sick then it was a win-win situation for everyone. In his opinion Wheeljack was just being difficult because he _liked_ to be difficult.

Requesting the two Wreckers report back after the hose-down, Infernus made his way back to Hangar E. He wanted to see if Grim's visor was done yet. Last he'd checked it had very nearly been.

* * *

WEST-CENTRAL PERU, ANDES MOUNTAINS  
MOUNT YERUPAJA  
LOCAL TIME: 8:00 P.M

It had been many moons since Razorplume had last visited his slumbering eldest brother. He had had no need to visit him, and Sunwarden mostly kept himself in deep power down to conserve his Energon reserves in the cold and to better connect with the Old One's faint life force. But now he had something important to tell him. The great serpent did not know how his brother would react on hearing the news of the Builder's resurrection efforts. His belief – their beliefs – concerning the dead had shifted around during the course of their stay on this world. At first they had all three accepted it. But after Divebomb's hunting and demise, Razorplume had begun to question it.

What right did a mere mortal have to assume the Old One's eternal role of creating? What right did anyone have to pull the dead from their rest?

Below him the snowy peaks of the Andes swept by. On reaching the tallest peak he circled down carefully to its upper base and dropped his holographic illusion. Fresh snow crunched beneath his massive trods. A few minutes of searching soon revealed a hidden pressure latch which he activated. The grinding of cold stone was heard nearby. Razorplume found the entrance to the hidden bunker around the north face of the mountain, flying further up its length, the now opened doors emblazoned with the insignia of the sun. He was still astonished no one had found the place yet, but perhaps the mountain being incredibly difficult to scale by the humans had something to do with it. Possessing no wings of their own in conjunction with sharp winds that kept small aircraft away prevented them from swarming the peak and finding the bunker. Only the Inca of old had known exactly where to find both the unsealing switch and the bunker itself. When they had perished, their secrets had gone with them to the grave.

Content no one had disturbed his eldest brother's meditative slumber, he slunk inside. He called out over the Trine bond to give Sunwarden fair warning. He recieved a faint flicker in reply. This did not worry him. It was not weak due to him dying. He was simply older, weaker than he was. He had been the first serpent to be cloned, and among one of the very first beasts the Builder had made. Resources to clone such massive beasts had not been easy to come by, so there had been a gap. Razorplume had come next, and Divebomb last. So far as they knew they were the largest Predacons to be cloned, and the only true titans Shockwave had brought back.

He made his way deeper into the bunker. It was warmer inside than out, but there was still a distinct nip in the air. When he reached the main chamber he was met with a sight he'd grown accustomed to. A large serpent colored pale Vegas gold and silver with rich emerald accents lay coiled in the middle of the chamber, air intakes slow and steady. Other colors like vibrant ruby and sapphire dotted his frame and adorned his feathered crest. Black designs resembling tears sat under his shuttered optics. In the past he had been far more resplendent, but age and time had worn down his colors to pale ghosts of their former glory.

Razorplume knelt and lay a hand on the slumbering serpent, gently shaking him to wake him. There was a faint hiss of air and his optics flickered open, revealing them to be a very pale yellow.

" _Brother? What are you doing here?_ " Sunwarden hissed curiously.

"I bring news, Sunwarden."

" _News of the Builder's renewed efforts, I assume?_ "

The younger serpent blinked. "Yes. But how – ?"

" _I sensed your outrage. Something upset you._ "

Razorplume gave him a smile: "What, did your dream-visions not tell you what happened then?"

" _Not that,_ _no_." Sunwarden said, shaking his helm. " _The_ _Old One does not always show me what I wish to see. He shows me what I need to see. If you would do as I do, and let yourself reach out to the dimming light, he will do the same for you. It will help him heal. He might be able to help you come to terms with what happened with Divebomb._ "

That was something he had said many times. Spiritual as he was, he had reservations about surrendering his borrowed spark to sleep for the rest of his life in order to keep a dying deity alive. Frankly he wasn't even certain such a strategy worked, however convinced Sunwarden might be. He was still young, had a whole life to live. He didn't want to throw it away. Still, he was always curious to know whatever it was his oldest brother saw in his dreams. At times they were almost prophetic in nature. Though they weren't always clear, he had come to respect Sunwarden's ability.

"What did you see this time?"

Sunwarden did not answer right away. His gaze became unfocused, like that of a priest lost in a trance. He stayed like that for almost a breem. His pale yellow optics brightened. Then he spoke at last:

" _I saw darkness, a great expanse of shadowy nothing. I could not even see my own hands through the murk. I felt fear, overwhelming and all-consuming. But as I watched the dark skies above erupted with fire_ _–_ _white fire. I could not see the source right away, blinding as it was. I did see the shadows begin to retreat from its presence though. Black was replaced with shimmering sand and blue sky. The nothingness was replaced a vast desert. I looked up then and saw it_ _–_ _a great dragon of white fire, wings stretched wide against the heavens. It screamed, the very land and sky shook with thunder, lightning split the sky, and the last of the shadows fled. I did not feel afraid any more. I knew who it was then._ "

"Who?" Razorplume demanded. This was not like his usual visions. It was surprisingly specific.

The eldest serpent looked him squarely in his optics and said:

" _The one whose scalding fire brings life and death. The one whose voice can bring sorrow or joy. The one who has become a beast to protect those who are not. He is the ember that never extinguishes. He is the Old One's new host. He is Infernus, the Great Fire of Hope and Vengeance. I ask you this: Should you meet this white drake at any point, do not attack him or anyone with him. Give him instead this message: Fire's kindling must reignite the Old Flame._ "

Sunwarden's optics paled again. His helm drooped to the floor. His optics shuttered.

" _Go now. I tire. But remember what I have said._ "

Razorplume bowed his helm respectfully and rose. He would think on his words, certainly, for they seemed infinitely important. That last phrase of his though – "Fire's kindling must reignite the Old Flame" – what in the name of Onyx Prime was _that_ supposed to mean? And why was he supposed to give it to this white-fire beast, this "Infernus?" That was a very unusual name for a Predacon to have. Something about that name reminded him of something, yet he could not put his digit on what. Sunwarden had been very definite this time around while still somehow astonishingly vague as always he was about his visions.

He turned in blind confusion to question Sunwarden. But he was already deep in the realm of dreams once more. He bowed his helm and put a hand over his chestplates in an old gesture of loyalty.

"I will give it to him should I ever meet him, brother, even if I do not know when or how or why I should meet him. As your brother and your keeper, this I vow."

He left.

* * *

"There. We're clean now. Happy?"

Ratchet turned to see both Wreckers standing on the hangar's threshold – and mercifully mud-free. Wheeljack was scowling at him, Bulkhead on the other hand was grinning broadly. He had to admit it was rather handy Infernus had hit it off with the occupants of the auto-shop. First Marcus, then Neal, then Adrian and Katelyn Gonzalez. And by association with the head mechanic basically everyone else.

"Quite." he said.

When no further invitation came they entered the hangar. For once, Miko did not pounce on her returned guardian with her usual abruptness. She was busy with Jack who was occupied in trying to help her understand basic algebra. Just because Jasper High School had been blown to pieces along with the rest of their town didn't mean they had an excuse to lag behind in their education. Raf was watching Ratchet work on Grimwing's visor, staying out of the way of the medic's busy hands. It was very near complete, with only the fine wiring needing to be set up before it being hooked up to the owner. Grimwing would then no longer need to be careful when in broad daylight. But Ratchet's hands with were simply too large for such fine work. It was times like this he wished he had a mini-con partner or some of his finer tools.

' _Wait._ ' He mentally slapped himself. ' _I still do._ '

"Rafael, would you mind assisting me with this?"

The tween looked surprised but said he'd be happy to. So the two set to work. Ratchet gave instructions, and Rafael followed each one to the letter. Infernus turned from his conversation with Bluestreak (which, per the usual order of things, was a bit one-sided) to watch. He knew the squirt was good with his laptop (Pit, he'd helped download a _freaking virus_ into _freaking Soundwave_ ) but he'd never really thought he'd be good at this sort of thing. Raf was more of a hacker than an electrician. But with Ratchet's instructions he seemed to be doing real well. At this point he considered the doc might as well just take the kid on as apprentice or something. Couldn't hurt. The two were already pretty close.

Infernus felt a pulse of sadness from the Matrix, but there was fond pride in it, too. Optimus had no doubt the boy would do great things in his lifetime, though he would not be present to see them himself. The young Prime's pleased, curious expression was now touched with sadness of his own. As a specter there were many things Optimus could no longer do or touch. All he could do was use the optics and audials of his successor to see and hear the world he'd left behind. He could not come back. There were rules in place. He'd felt the breeze when Grimwing had been at the grave, but that could've been just coincidence. He hadn't mentioned hearing anyone talk back. Still though – he'd felt... _something_ there.

Man. And here he'd though being a ghost had a ton of perks. Phasing through walls. Possessing people. Levitating objects. But he supposed that being stuck in a sacred capsule thing had something to do with removing those perks. Still. Didn't make it any less sucky for him. What, they couldn't let him out for even five minutes? There was no way something bad could happen in that short little time span.

' _Does it get boring there? Like, do you get bored being a ghost and all?_ '

He was very happy to hear his predecessor give a gentle laugh. He realized then he'd never heard the Prime laugh or even chuckle while alive. It was an amazing sound though, like listening to the great ringing bells of an old cathedral.

' _No._ ' he answered. ' _I am not confined to the Matrix. Remember Amalgamous's words: it is a gateway. A crossroads if you will. We may come and go as we please. I have many lost friends I wish to speak with, and I have only reunited with a small number of them. You are my main priority at the moment, Smokescreen. Only when I know you have no immediate need of me do I leave. I trust Amalgamous, Alpha Trion, and Vector to watch and assist you at those times._ '

' _Thanks. T-That means a lot. That, y'know, you're taking time off your little siesta to help me. Still._ '

A pulse answered back, no words accompanying it. It kind of felt like someone had just given him a metaphorical friendly hand on his shoulder. He smiled a little.

"Anyone know where Blue is?" he asked.

"Blue got a little bored and went out to stretch his wheels while you were gone." Miko provided.

Oh boy. There was only one other place Bluestreak knew contained friends on site, and that was the auto-shop hangar. Putting Adrian and Bluestreak in the same space as each other would probably make reality implode on itself because it just couldn't handle the sheer amount of adorkable spazziness. He'd really tried to keep those two separate. Funny he hadn't heard him or seen him on his way back. Hm. Maybe he'd gone out for a drive in the desert instead? He hoped the little Miata could handle it. The terrain could get a bit rough out there despite how flat it looked, and he didn't want him so far from base. Something might happen to him out there, outside the safe confines of Area 51. There was a lot trouble he could get into or meet out there.

His fear was unfounded when Bluestreak's vehicle form appeared in the distance, racing towards the hangar with his usual speed. The young gunner screeched to a stop and transformed with his usual boundless energy, bouncing over to Infernus excitedly. Miko laughed. Blue sure looked eager about something. Looked like he was holding something in his hands, too. Weird. What did he have stashed in there?

"Look what I found just outside the compound! Look!"

He held up his hands to reveal what at first might be taken for a coil of very thick rope or cabling. On closer examination however Infernus's blue optics went round in shock, because the "rope" was moving. One end lifted up to look at him through tiny, beady little black eyes. A mouth with two wicked fangs opened and unleashed a hiss. The other end flicked up, shook quickly, and emitted a strange, rapid _ch-ch-ch-ch-ch_.

"Can I keep it?" Bluestreak begged. "I think it likes you!"

' _...Are you fracking kidding me right now?_ ' Liege deadpanned.

' _Language._ ' chided Solus.

Ratchet turned from his visor-building to look at Bluestreak's cupped hands. On noting what was in the gunner's grasp he let out a colorful curse of "Sonofaglitch, _SNAKE!_ " and then tried to shield Rafael from the serpent's view. He had seen this sort of snake around the mesa in the past. They had occasionally found little secret ways into the missile silo from outside to escape the heat of the desert. Though they posed no threat to his kind, the Autobots had become far more vigilant against them once they had taken on the three children as charges. Diamondbacks were not the sort of snake one kept as a pet. Their bites were lethal if anti-venom were not injected soon after.

Amalgamous simply started laughing his aft off. The Primeling could almost hear him collapsing to the ground. He heard someone give a sigh.

Infernus stood there looking at the creature for upwards of a minute and a half, not seriously believing what he was seeing. It was a snake. Bluestreak had brought a snake back. Of all the things to have found out there in the desert, he just _had_ to bring a _snake_ back. And one with a bad attitude no less. Even as he watched it tried to clamp its fangs into Bluestreak's digit. When that strategy failed it hissed again, rattling its tail.

"Uh, Blue. That's a rattlesnake." Jack clarified. "That thing has the capacity to kill a human in minutes by making us bleed internally. You mind dumping it back outside – _away_ from the compound? I'm not sure if the clinic here has a spare stock of anti-venom lying around and I'd rather not get bitten and find out they don't."

The young gunner looked off-put by this order to release his new pet but did as told and drove off. He returned within the breem, snake-less.

"The next time you bring a foreign object into this hangar _warn us_." Ratchet snapped. "Especially if it's an animal that has a toxic bite!"

Bluestreak winced. "Sorry."

He shuffled a pede contritely. Infernus felt a little bad for him. Maybe that was something they should've done already: teach Blue about the deadly and not-so-deadly wildlife of the Nevada area. If he'd thought of doing that before now this whole incident might not have happened. He approached him.

"Hey. How about I help you brush up on the wildlife before I head over to Scotland, yeah? So you know which ones are okay to bring back and show me? And that are okay to have around the humans because, y'know, they won't kill them or anything?"

His sibling's expression brightened. He nodded and smiled. "Okay!"

* * *

 _Location: Decepticon Warship Nemesis_

Ravage padded his way through the dark, violet-lit corridors of the Nemesis. He did not bother cloaking himself from the Vehicons and Eradicons he passed despite their being leery of him. Any venomous remarks or black looks he got from them were very quickly stifled or stopped when he drew near, the drones not knowing he had heard them from quite a ways away. They were scared of him, he knew that. And they rightly should be. If they had been Autobots he would've shredded them already for their disrespect. As it was, he knew better than to attack fellow Decepticons. That would only anger Lord Megatron and irritate the Builder, and he wanted to remain in their good graces.

He passed through another corridor until he reached the doors to a certain launch bay. The motion detectors picked him up and the doors hissed open. He padded in. It had been a day or so since his first conversation with the nameless Draconian. Surely by now he would be in better shape. They had a medic aboard who was supposed to be tending to him, and he'd had well over a solar cycle to do so. Draconians themselves were notorious among Predacons for being able to take one Pit of a beating and still come out swinging. That was why many Predakings, the alpha rulers of their ancient society, had been Draconians in the distant past.

A soft screech met his audials: " _Ravage? Is that you?_ "

He approached one of the hangar bays. The bronze Draconian was there all right, and looking better than he'd saw him last. He didn't look so beat-down or exhausted now. Or on edge. Good. He could talk to him now.

" _Mornin'_. _So. Mind tellin' me now what got you all beat up the other stellar cycle? Or are you not gonna tell me?_ "

The Draconian hissed and answered:

" _The Grey Flier. He is the one in charge of my combat training. He is...rough in his methods. Unnecessarily so. I try to tell him that such roughness is unneeded during the training sessions, but he cannot understand what I say to him. You_ – _You know the language of the others. Could you teach me so I may tell him? Or could you tell him for me?_ "

Ravage offered a fanged grin. Wow. This guy didn't even know how to use short-band yet? Onyx. He must really be young.

" _Might be best I teach you. Always best to tell someone off yourself. Getting someone else to do it might indicate shyness, and that's not a trait looked on favorably by our kind. The weak and timid never survived in the old times. Only the strong and brave did. And the ruthless. But our vocalizers don't work like theirs. I'll teach you the language and you can use short-band to talk to 'em. Works just fine with me._ "

The Draconian bowed its helm to him in acceptance. He said he would appreciate the hound's efforts. There were many things the Builder had not taught it yet, many things it still did not know.

" _But before we begin, might I ask you some questions? You have been on this world for a long time. I have only been here for a few deca-cycles at most. At least that is what I gather from the Builder._ "

" _Sure._ " Ravage sat on his haunches. " _What do you want to know?_ "

" _What were the Dragon Hunts? You mentioned those in our last encounter._ "

And so Ravage began to tell the nameless beast what he knew. He listened with rapt attention, never once interrupting the hound's flow of words that only the two of them could understand. Ravage felt a bit pleased to have someone as a student, and a good listener at that. Such patience would make for an excellent soldier. When he was done, the Draconian's yellow optics were wide in disbelief.

" _You mean...there are only a few of us left on this world? That we were hunted en masse to the grave?_ "

" _So far as I can gather, yes. You mean to tell me the Builder didn't mention this to you? Not even a passing remark?_ "

The Draconian shook his helm. No. The Builder had not mentioned this extermination to it. Frankly it wondered if he even knew of the fate of his children. Perhaps the thought of someone slaughtering them in droves had never occurred to him? They were a mighty race after all. They were not easy prey. And Ravage did not know who the killers had been?

" _No. I stuck to my turf. Didn't get out as much as some other beasts. But when a couple o' pals o' mine stopped paying me little visits I started to question why. That's what I've been doing these past centuries. I've been trying to find them. I found one. Mech named Sabrehorn. Dead. I still need to find out what happened to Flare-Up and Cave-In. Never managed to get across the water though._ _Tried to contact Nightscream to give me a lift. Never responded._ "

" _Perhaps when we are drawn to those regions where they lived I may assist your search? I would very much like to meet others like me._ "

" _Don't see why not. I'll have a word with Lord Megatron. You'll need his permission._ "

" _Thank you._ "

" _Now, let's start off with the basics of short-band radio..._ "

* * *

 **Author's Note: Bit of a lull chapter here. Don't worry. Scotland's next, then Texas. And BOY am I gonna have a blast with those...;3**


	24. Chapter 24: Unpredictable, Unbelievable!

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 24

* _Alright! Let's get this mythology/Predacon train chugging again! Choo-choo! :D First up: Texas._

* * *

 _Later..._

Bluestreak was a little bewildered by how many critters out in the desert were dangerous to humans. There were only a handful that could be safely brought back to the base to show his brothers or the humans. The simple rule with the creatures was: if it had fangs or claws or hadn't been domesticated as a common pet he couldn't bring it back. And unfortunately a lot of the desert wildlife had fangs or claws and hadn't been readily domesticated 'cause living in the desert wasn't easy. Animals living in the desert were under the rules of kill or be killed, eat or be eaten. He was happy he could bring back a few things though. There were even a few snakes that were harmless, like the gopher snake (he had no idea what the heck a gopher was though). That kinda made up for it. Animals on Earth were just so weird and cool! The sheer variety of designs and colors and everything made home look a bit, well, _dull_.

Bulkhead was even nice enough to tell about some of the tropical animals he'd seen in the Mexican jungles. Mostly birds. There had been a few creatures in the underbrush and trees that built massive, sticky nets called webs and had eight feet on their bodies and multiple eyes. "Spiders" they were called. Humans apparently had a thing against them because they were so creepy looking and often had nasty bites. Bulkhead had told him a story from way back when where, after the base had been overrun with scraplets which had then been 'bridged back to the Arctic, Ratchet had admitted that humans were useful in their own right and Optimus had admitted they were strong despite being so small.

And Miko had then freaked the flip out when she thought she'd felt a spider on her, running off shrieking at the top of her lungs.

Yeah. Humans and spiders didn't mix well. Kind of like how scraplets and Cybertronians didn't mix well. Hey, at least spiders couldn't fly or swarm humans and devour them alive. That was one thing in their favor.

Grimwing's visor had also been completed at last. With some help from Ratchet the Thunderbird had been outfitted with it. He had offered many thanks in return. Personally, Bluestreak thought he looked pretty cool with it. It was also nice not to see the poor mech squinting and shielding his optics with his hand whenever he went outside. Even inside he tended to squint a lot. Ratchet and Rafael had seemed very pleased with the end result – and with their efforts. Fowler had even dropped by with Mr. Rowland. Both had been impressed with the visor. The two men had left to see to their routine business. Mr. Rowland had promised to stop by later to see how things were going with the Thunderbird and his friends.

"Infernus?" prompted Ratchet.

The Prime turned from his teaching in instant. Bluestreak didn't like the medic's tone. There was something in it that told trouble was coming. He watched him tilt his helm inquisitively to one side in a silent question.

"You need to head to El Paso quickly. We must get that fossil into safe keeping before they can use it for ill purposes. Two Predacons in their ranks is enough I should think."

He turned to Ultra Magnus. He was the most well-versed tactician he had. "Sir? Who should I bring?" Infernus asked. He really knew nothing about the area. He'd be going in blind.

"This is an oil field, meaning you will need to be mindful of blaster fire and, well, dragon fire. I needn't remind you that oil is incredibly flammable. But we need to keep this below the radar if we can. There might be workers on site who could spot us and complicate matters considerably. Speed and stealth would be helpful in this instance. Minimal firepower would be preferable as well. We could severely damage the already unsteady oil economy if the field goes up in flames."

Infernus's blue gaze flicked among his ranks. Speed and stealth Ratchet had said. No powerful explosives or firearms either, as one misplaced shot could see the place's oil drills erupt like a volcano. Definitely not Wheeljack then. That was a no brainer. The fastest team mates he had were Bluestreak, Arcee, and Bumblebee. Might as well bring all three. Poor 'Bee hadn't been out in the field for a while, and Blue would just get bored staying here for another mission. 'Bee knew better than to get cocky with his triple-barrel cannons. Blue would probably be a little less trigger happy with his own shotgun after his little misunderstanding with Grim. Not like a shotgun had great range anyway. Arcee liked using her arm blades over her blasters at any rate. Yeah, this'd work. Totally.

"Blue, Arcee, 'Bee – with me."

He was pleased to see all three nod and join him. Ratchet began queuing up a groundbridge.

"What about Scotland?" Miko wondered.

The Prime considered again. His speedy soldiers would be busy in El Paso. So maybe he could send the two Wreckers plus Magnus to check the place out? Maybe Grim in case things got hairy? He was used to being in caves. Ratchet had said he'd detected an Energon deposit beneath the bluffs. Depending on how large the deposit was the number of 'bots needed to transport it (and possibly a fossil there) would vary. Smaller the deposit the fewer 'bots were needed. Larger the deposit the more 'bots were needed. They needed the Energon badly. His injuries courtesy of Starscream had taken their reserves down. Ugh. But he didn't want to split everyone up, not with the Gwyllgi and that bronze dragon now both working for the 'Cons. There wasn't much choice here though. Splitting up when their numbers were low _and_ while there were two Predacons ready to rip them all to pieces was a bad idea. Time couldn't be thrown aside waiting for one group to finish before sending out the other, not this time.

"Commander? Can you take Wheeljack and Bulkhead to the bluffs? See what's there? I know you guys just go back from Mexico," he said, addressing the two Wreckers, "But we need that Energon. The 'Cons are hoarding enough of it as is. Just scout the place out if you can. Push comes to shove, try to secure the place. If their pet Preds come – one, the other, or both – _don't_ fight them. Just get the slag out. Much as we need the stuff I'm not gonna risk lives for it, and I'm not sure if I could make it there in time to lend a hand. No idea whether or not we'll finish at the oil field before you guys finish at the bluffs. And I'm not sure how well Grim would do if those Preds showed up again. Gwyllgi was a handful by itself. The dragon? That thing might be too much. Er, no offense Grim."

"None taken." Grimwing answered.

Ultra Magnus nodded. "Understood, Prime."

Wheeljack made a face at Infernus: "You're no fun. That dragon or the new pet dog comes I'll give 'em somethin' to chew on." He detached the grenade on his hip and tossed it up in the air a few times with some skillful flicks of the wrist.

Ultra Magnus shot him a disapproving look. The white Wrecker returned it with a glare of his own and a seemingly ill-timed rebellious smirk. The larger mech's fists clenched, optics narrowing.

Bumblebee got between them quickly: * _Okay, fellas. Let's not do this right now. Focus on the real fight, would you? You can save the glaring contests for later._ *

When it looked like the two were willing to at least tolerate each other the scout withdrew. He kept an optic on them regardless. Smokescreen had read of the Wreckers' battles in the Hall of Records but that didn't mean he was fully aware of the friction the team had had (and apparently _still_ had) with their present commanding officer. Wheeljack was the biggest cause of that friction. He and Magnus mixed about as well as oil and water. Bulkhead tried to be the mediator between the two, but he hadn't always been successful. He had a feeling these two would keep at it until they finally learned to work together or else got each other killed because of their contrasting personalities.

Bumblebee really hoped they'd avoid that second one. They were too low on numbers to start losing anyone else.

"Wheeljack. Play nice with him. I'm not evening ordering that. Just do it as a favor to me." Infernus said. "Listen to him. Please. If you dropped a _cave_ on that Predacon the first time you met it, I kinda doubt a grenade is gonna do more than tickle it. Might do something to the Gwyllgi if you manage to hit it but believe me when I say that thing is fast. Not an easy target. Oh, did I mention it could _turn invisible?_ Hard to hit something if you can't even _see_ it. You guys wouldn't be able to smell it like me and Grim can."

"What?" Wheeljack challenged, folding his arms over his chassis. "You don't think me and Bulk are capable of holding a beastie off?"

Infernus's optics narrowed, but there was no real malice in them. "No. I _do_ think you can if you really try. I'm just telling you not to. I'm not trying to be mean here but you guys had to be rescued the last time you fought that dragon. My group in Wales got lucky with the Gwyllgi 'cause it was raining. Grim doesn't count. Harming wasn't what he'd been trying to do in the mountain. He was just trying to frighten some manners into them. Point is, you won't have the advantages we both had the last times we fought those things if they show up – and I'm thinking they might. Megatron won't be taking chances with the possibility of two resources all packaged up for him. It's free loot he might not know we know about."

The white Wrecker looked less than pleased about this arrangement but did not offer a retort. Kid had a point. Wreckers were trained to take risks like that though. That was the whole point of a black ops unit. They went in and dealt with the problems everyone else was too cautious or fearful to deal with, getting rid of anything that got in the way of that goal. Sometimes they had a real, concrete plan but a lot of the times those plans had either had to be scrapped or altered on the fly. With Magnus around, those improvisations hadn't been so commonplace, but when they did occur there had been distinct friction among the Wreckers and their Commander. They'd wanted to do it their way while Magnus wanted to do it his way – the "safer" way.

"Alright. Fine. No promises though. If he starts bugging me about protocol and rank for the billionth time..." Wheeljack left the weak threat open ended, his expression remaining none too pleased about working with his old unit leader.

Infernus mentally sighed and rolled his optics. He couldn't have these two constantly at each other's neck cables. Was there any way to get them to at least tolerate each other, on missions if no where else? They were already all dealing with one major fight. Having a second one even closer to home would weaken them from the inside out. A team was no team if they couldn't cooperate on and off the battlefield. Megatron would be quick to take advantage of that. Their unwillingness to cooperate might get them killed. But...how was he supposed to _do_ that?

' _That I am unsure. Ultra Magnus is a talented mech to be certain but he has trouble cooperating well with different attitudes and viewpoints. In a word he is stubborn. And unfortunately so is Wheeljack. Despite efforts to alleviate tension during the War it never faded. How you intend to obtain the result you wish I leave to you. I will warn you that no one has been successful in such an endeavor. A handful have tried merely to be met with dismal failure._ '

"Oh, _thanks_ for that wonderful little pep talk..." he muttered. He had been hoping for a little more encouragement than that, maybe even a hint or suggestion on how to work this conflict into something a little more productive. Aggressive glaring contests and passive-aggressiveness that might turn into real, physical aggressiveness needless to say were _not_ productive. It would hamper them in the field.

"You say something?" Arcee asked.

"Hmm? Wha? No. Nothing."

Arcee didn't look convinced. One slender brow ridge arched up at him. He'd seen Jack's mother give Miko that look once before, and slagging Pit was it scary effective at getting you to talk. Infernus gave in and opened up a short-band channel to her:

* _Okay, fine. I'm trying to think up a way to get those two to get along so they don't handicap themselves on missions and possibly get themselves hurt or killed because of the fact they can't stand each other. Happy?_ *

The femme appeared surprised on hearing that. What looked like genuine appreciation flickered in her pink-rimmed optics. A tiny little smirk formed.

* _Good luck with that. If Optimus and Jazz couldn't get them to get along I have no idea how you're gonna manage._ *

* _Oh, ye of so little_ _faith_.* Infernus teased with playful sarcasm. * _I'll think of something. At some point. Probably. Hopefully..._ *

A groundbridge swirled open. Bumblebee whistled and darted for the portal. Arcee actually managed a small, wry smile and gave the young Prime a friendly shove forward. Infernus looked at her, startled and pleased at the change in attitude. She'd said one time she considered him a good choice in a successor to Optimus, and had even hugged him that same solar cycle. He just hadn't thought her attitude would change so drastically. Was she finally learning to live with the past in order to accept the present? If so that was a really good step forward for her.

"Come on, Smaug. Let's go make sure the 'Cons don't blow the oil field up and get a sea serpent onto their roster."

He grinned broadly. Hey. If he could get Arcee smiling and playfully shoving him – even making a Lord of the Rings joke at him – then how hard could getting two stubborn mules to tolerate each other really be?

Still grinning, he followed the femme, the gunner, and scout through. Out of curiosity he tossed a quick sideways glance up to the catwalks. Jack had put down his textbooks and was looking after them with a hopeful smile of his own. Miko had a grin of her own, but he was a little worried to note that grin wasn't targeted at the portal. It was targeted at Bulkhead and Wheeljack. That was not a good thing to see. He knew Miko pretty well by now. _That_ grin always signaled trouble.

' _Miko, don't you slagging dare..._ ' Infernus thought.

He glanced back to see her idly fidgeting and watching the Wreckers, waiting for an opening. In warning, he gave her the classic "I'm watching you..." gesture and stepped into the portal. Some instinctive sense made him pop his helm back out and once again to find her on the stairs, frozen on noting he was still watching her. Slowly, he back-stepped into the groundbridge.

The portal closed behind them.

* * *

* _Welcome to the Lone Star State, Smoke!_ *

Bumblebee had his arms out like a showman displaying his wares and tricks. Arcee had to resist the urge to roll her optics. Mechs. And she was stuck with the three most playful ones on the team. Wonderful. This'd go well.

Infernus looked around, a hint of confusion in his fiery blue gaze. He asked whether or not this was still Nevada, 'cause he didn't see much difference. It was mostly flat and rocky in every direction. The ground was desert-y looking. Not a lot of plant life. Had Ratchet decided to troll them and just plonk them somewhere in Nevada, knowing he wasn't that great at geography?

* _Oh come on! This is Texas! They got cowboys, they got rodeos, they got really good Mexican food_ – _Raf says so. I believe him. Mexico's just south of us. We're basically right on the border._ _New Mexico's just north of us. American Southwest tends to look kinda desert-y anyways until you hit the mountains. We're actually in a kinda mountainous region right now. El Paso's at about thirty-seven hundred feet above sea level even if it doesn't look like we're that high._ *

The scout pointed off to the distance. Glimmering on the horizon, just visible, was a modern city skyline. It poked up in silvers and glassy blues and greens from the rocky desert like some bizarre forest. Compared to New York, which Miko and Jack had described in vivid detail to him, the place was nowhere near the sheer scale of that city. It was puny compared to Iacon, too. Still. Pretty impressive in its own right to have a city like this in the middle of the rocky, semi-mountainous desert.

* _That's El Paso right over there. Population's roughly seven hundred thousand or so. Not the biggest city in the state. Interstate Ten runs through there to San Antonio to the south, Fort Worth to the north, and Houston to the southeast. I consider it lucky we got El Paso and not one of those three. They have a lot more people in those cities._ *

"Wow. Am I talking to a scout or a tour guide?" Infernus joked. He hadn't expected 'Bee to be so knowledgeable about the cities of the country and the planet in general. Sure he'd been here a lot longer than he had but this was some pretty specific intel. Research was required to obtain it.

Bumblebee made a face at him: * _Shut up. I like exploring Earth, okay? It's fun. If you start exploring you'll find it's a lot like home. Just not as much metal and everything's built to human scale, not our scale._ *

"I like all the colors." Bluestreak chirped. "There's just so much variety!"

"Guys. Please." Arcee interrupted. "Oil field. Fossil. Remember? This isn't a tour. This is a mission."

"Well, where's the oil field? I don't see it." retorted Infernus.

The scout looked around. At first glance the city was the only plainly human-made construct anywhere near them in that general direction. On turning about to face the opposite direction he spotted what might be mistaken for high-tension towers. On zooming in he noticed there was key features in such a tower that were missing, and a metal pole was driven down the middle of the tower. His optics were not sharp enough to determine whether or not that pole was rotating but he could take a guess that that pole was a drill. Clustered near these rigs were several see-saw like structures that slowly rocked up and down in a rhythmic fashion, each the color of dark iron. One was completely still. A bridge ran over a ravine in which water rushed.

* _There._ * he said, pointing. * _You see those towers? Those are the drills. They bore down to pockets of oil or natural gas. Those things that like look like giant see-saws are the pumpjacks. Once the bore hole is finished the tower's replaced with one of those. They pump the stuff back to the surface to be processed and sold. Also, funny note about them: they're nicknamed 'rocking horse' or 'nodding donkey' pumps because of how they look and move._ *

Infernus looked the pumps and drills over. "Sooo...which ones do we need to avoid blowing up?"

"Both." Arcee answered simply.

"Aaand what about people?"

"Those rigs and pumpjacks are all automated but there might be some personnel on sight to maintain the equipment. It's a Sunday so hopefully the workers are all off site. The fossil might be in storage. I'm not sure."

"Joy." He groaned. "Well, let's go get this over with."

Transforming, he bounded down from the rise onto the flat plains, rocks and dust sliding out of place as he went. The femme, the gunner, and the scout followed behind. Explaining the presence of three unmanned vehicles in a private oil drilling field was one thing. Fowler could easily step in and say they were part of a driver-less vehicle test and their GPS systems had gone on the fritz. Explaining the presence of a giant white dragon was another matter entirely. And on the flat plains where the drilling was taking place there was no cover. They could easily be ambushed from above with little forewarning. Each piece of equipment was a bomb to boot. One stray shot, one stray stream of fire, and the whole place would go up in flames, crippling the field's profits and sending the price of oil skyrocketing. This was a bad sum of factors.

"I don't like this..." admitted Arcee quietly. "Too many dangers."

* _We'll be fine. We just need to find the fossil and book it._ *

She did not say that knowing their luck it would hardly be as simple as that. Trouble would arise. Things would be made far more complicated. Her expression did become more grim. The scout noticed the change.

* _We'll be fine._ * he whistled. * _Start thinking positive for once._ *

Bluestreak nodded. "Yeah! We got a dragon on the team, remember? Any 'Cons come here, Smoke'll roast 'em! Right, 'Bee?"

Arcee snorted softly. Thinking positive had never done anything for her; it never had and it never would. The War had ripped that sort of hopeful, light-sparked attitude from her long ago. In war it was deadly to possess it. Optimism led to over-estimation, and over-estimation more often than not led to death and pain and general misery. She'd had enough of that to last her for many millions of years. Caution was far more important to her. Pessimism was much easier than hope in times like this. More practical.

"If he could avoid char-broiling the field that'd be nice."

The three re-joined their Prime in the confines of the field. Infernus was busy snuffing around one of the few low buildings that dotted the expanse. All around them the drills and pumpjacks went about their own mission unperturbed, chugging ever onward. Infernus seemed annoyed as he kept trying to track. They got a hint of why: the air here was suffused with a smell of sulfur as the oil was pumped to the surface. Finding scents through the stench was a task in it of itself, and he admitted he wasn't even sure what he was smelling for in the first place. He had no idea if the fossil even still retained a scent, and it was hard to pick out individual scents that he _did_ know. The stench in the air masked pretty much everything. Even theirs were foggier here than at the hangar. 'Cons could be hiding behind a building in vehicle form and he'd be none the wiser.

Bumblebee opened a comm. channel back to the hangar: * _Hey, Ratchet? Did that report say where the fossil's being kept? Is it on site or somewhere else or what?_ *

[It is on site, in the building labeled 1B according to the official, un-released report. I apologize; I neglected to mention that. The jaw is far too large for any truck on site to move it, and the few workers there are under orders not to move it until a museum official and a marine biologist are obtained to examine it. So far as I am aware neither has visited and the object has not been moved.]

He shut the line off. So the thing was still here. He relayed the medic's information:

* _Look for building 1B, guys. That's where it is._ *

Arcee glanced over the building before them. Above the door was a plaque that labeled the building: 1F.

Infernus was about to order them to spread out to cover more ground but reined in the impulse. They were too exposed out here and he assumed he was still ground-bound and unable to give air support. His optics were far sharper than theirs. He could pick the place out from a distance. Sticking together though – that was the sane thing. No one would be left isolated then. The scars from his encounter with Starscream, healed and faint and painted over though they were, stung in remembrance of that instance. He would never make that mistake again. It had nearly cost him his life.

The Prime glanced around sharply, optics zooming in to focus on each of the buildings. 1A – nope. 1D – nope. 1C – nope. Ah-ha! 1B! Right over there! He bounded for the inconspicuous trailer-like building. Arcee, Bluestreak, and Bumblebee, taken off guard, transformed and raced after him. He began sniffing to ensure it was empty before they re-joined him. Sure smelled like no one was in there. He could smell even more crude oil within through the masking sulfur stench outside. Combined it was overpowering. This was a garage or something for the on-site vehicles. Or it might be where the fuel was stored until it could be transported for processing at a refinery. That was as much as he could gather from smell alone. There were no windows.

Actually, come to think of it: how were they going to get in to grab the fossil? They were too big to fit. He wasn't going to rip the building apart to get it. That was super excessive and would cause a veritable scrap-storm of an inquiry. Fowler would probably have their helms on platters if they did that.

* _Uh, guys? How're we gonna get the fossil in there?_ * he asked over short-band.

Bluestreak admitted he had no idea. They could ask Fowler or Mark or somebody to be 'bridged over but there rose the problem of once they _did_ get inside the fossil was probably way too big for a human to move without help. Infernus's jaws were large; he had no clue how big this jaw was. The report had never said. He was assuming it was massive since Ratchet had said it might belong to either a Sharkticon or a Leviacon. Some of those things had been freaking huge he said. He'd heard stories from before the War of a nearly complete frame of a Leviacon deep in the Hall of Discovery in Crystal City. Discoverers had nicknamed it _Ylvazi don Co'eqelar Su'ul:_ Dweller of the Deepest Fathoms. He spread his arms wide in a pale effort to describe its sheer scale. Thing was gigantic; enormous – like a blue whale was to a human.

The Prime growled in annoyance. He looked at the skies and all around warily. They were sitting ducks out here as they tried to solve this problem. If the 'Cons didn't know about the jaw they'd certainly be able to track three Autobots here and question what they were up to.

Arcee transformed without warning, startling the three mechs. She drove for the closed door to the side at break-neck speed, ramming into it. The door gave way with hardly any protest.

" _Arcee!_ " they cried in dismay. Oh they were all in _so_ much trouble when they got back.

"Easier to explain a break in than a torn-apart building." she argued. "If Fowler gets ticked, I'll take the fall for it, Prime. It was my idea, my actions."

She drove through the collapsed door and into the garage or storage building or whatever it was. Infernus listened carefully. He heard her slowly drive around, the sound of her engine rising and falling as he assumed she avoided equipment or barrels of crude oil. He heard the shifting of plates as she transformed towards the back, heard a slight scrape of metal-on-concrete as she lifted something into her arms. She came nearer the shuttered garage doors. He had to assume she'd found the fossil. The shuttered exit ways ground open slowly, rust making the gears and pulleys creak and groan. He let out of a sigh of relief on seeing her there with a large, complete jaw of a Predacon eternally agape as if to snap down on an unsuspecting piece of prey. Thing was pretty big, but certainly not belonging of a titan of 'Bee's description. From where she was holding it against her chestplates it reached vertically from just above her neck cables to her upper femoral plating. Nine or ten feet easily. Horizontally it was much wider, but with her arms busy hanging on to the thing he couldn't get an estimate. Freaking big – way bigger than his jaws.

Bumblebee whistled: * _Whoa. That thing's big! But...what's a fossil like this doing thousands of miles from any body of water?_ *

"Good question." Bluestreak said. "You'd think a Sharkticon or a Leviacon would be near a body of water or in water. What's it doing all the way out here?"

The femme returned to their side and handed the jaw over the scout. Surprisingly it wasn't very heavy. Made him wonder if the metal of the jaw was hollow and filled with gas to help with buoyancy when it had been alive. Metal had a bad habit of sinking, after all. He shifted it under the crook of his shoulder and prepped to call back to base for transport. It looked like mission accomplished.

* _And what do you know, 'Cee. No 'Cons! See? What'd I tell you?_ *

He instantly regretted his choice of words.

He saw Infernus's helm whip around for seemingly no reason. His audials were not on par with a Predacon's but he'd heard something, too. Faint but audible. A roaring kind of whoosh that could only be made by one thing: a groundbridge. Across the oil field about five hundred feet away a groundbridge swirled in front of the bridge. Out of it spewed seven Vehicons, two Eradicons, and a lumbering tank of dark purple metal that was all too familiar. Its massive gun pointed at the Prime dispassionately at the same moment the troopers morphed their hands into weapons. Each blaster and the tank's main gun began glowing with red energy. The three Autobots tensed.

"Secure the specimen." droned Shockwave. "I will deal with the Prime."

Infernus took Shockwave's order as a challenge: * _Alright, then! You wanna go, cyclops?! Let's go! Just you and me! Mano a mano! Come on!_ *

Snarling, he charged forward towards the enemy squadron. He barely registered Arcee shout at him to fight smart. Oh, he'd fight smart alright. Because the funny thing about tanks? They couldn't fly and they couldn't maneuver very well. Big, bulky, typically slow and completely ground-bound. And there was a nice, big, _lovely_ ravine right over there with a narrow bridge and low railings...Oh, yeah. He could work with this set up. This was perfect. Of course, he didn't even know if he could still fly. But hey – might as well find out. You only lived once.

"'Bee! Launch me!" he heard Arcee shout behind him.

He did not turn to look. He kept charging at the tank. He knew from the sound of blaster fire from above she was airborne for a short time, distracting the troops. Two Vehicons fell from well-placed shots to their chassis and helms. The other five swarmed forward to fight Arcee and 'Bee while the Eradicons took to the skies. One more was rammed by a heavy plasma shot from Bluestreak's shotgun. He barely paid any heed to the shots aimed at him though he kept his audials active on all points of interest. Both 'bots were accomplished, and troopers weren't exactly know for being geniuses. He heard one more fall. Shockwave aimed his own cannon at him. He dodged to the side just as the high-powered plasma shot whizzed past him close enough for him to feel the heat. Shockwave did not turn to flee. He trundled forward, firing more rounds. Infernus drew ever nearer.

"You run helmfirst to your death, Prime." he droned. "Optimus's processor was not working correctly when he chose you. You are a pale mockery of his tactical prowess."

* _Think again, ugly!_ *

Rather than ram the full weight of his frame into the tank, he leapt right over him. Shockwave's cannon attempted to follow his path but was unable to aim directly up. He lowered it and spun the weapon around, Infernus knowing full well it would cost him a precious klik or two. He followed him onto the bridge. Infernus spun around to face the tank, standing near the edge. Shockwave drew to a stop in the middle of the bridge.

"You seek to force me over the edge into the ravine. No doubt by using your frame as a battering ram?" he guessed.

* _Yep._ * It was a lie. That wasn't really his plan. He had a better one – dangerous but better, because Shockwave would never see it coming.

"And yet you are near the edge, and I am not. That placement is not logical for that strategy to function as you intend it. You should be in my position, and I, yours."

He kept silent. He could almost hear Shockwave's processor hum.

"...You have another plan."

Silent.

"You will not have the chance to employ it."

From above came the sound of another groundbridge. Out of it shot a sleek purple drone that began to fire on the white Draconian relentlessly. He forced himself to ignore the painful stings. He'd have to bear it in order for Shockwave to draw near and attempt the attack that would, presumably, send him tumbling over the edge and into the ravine. Shockwave transformed and approached, charging his cannon. The light of the charging plasma was so close to his mesh it turned the white to blood red. Infernus braced himself. Ratchet was gonna have his helm on a platter when he found out about this stupidly risky idea. He just had to hope it was worth it.

"Let us see how willing Primus is to protect his Speaker from harm."

Infernus transformed, grinning darkly. "Oh, yeah. _Let's_."

And he grabbed Shockwave in a vice grip, flung the mech over his shoulder pro-fighter style, and fell off the bridge with his catch. He heard two voices cry out:

"INFERNUS!"

* * *

The two mechs plummeted towards the ravine below. Wind whistled past them. Every astrosecond the bridge drew farther and farther away, and the bottom of the ravine and the river that flowed through it drew closer and closer.

"Are you mad?!" Shockwave did not howl but his voice was loud. Maybe even startled if he permitted himself to feel emotion.

"Nope!" the Prime answered, a near mad gleam in his blue gaze. "If I'm goin' down, you're goin' with me!"

The ground drew nearer. Infernus transformed and forced Shockwave beneath his limbs. His wings remained folded, Shockwave noting the tears in the baby blue mesh. He had to time this just right – and pray his wings still permitted gliding at the least. If he could still fly, great. If not – at least the landing he would have would be softer than the one he was forcing Shockwave to endure. Hitting solid rock at this speed, while not lethal to his kind, would definitely leave the mech indisposed for a bit. He stopped intaking air in a mimicry of holding his breath. His frame tensed. His processor began to solve calculations about his velocity far faster than it ever had in the past.

 _Three_

 _Two_

 _One_

' _Now!_ '

A mere ten feet from the ground and traveling at max descent speed the baby blue wings unfurled with a leathery snap. His forelimbs pushed Shockwave away to increase the impact force and give him a boost upwards in doing so. He pulled up as the scientist rammed full force into the stony ground beneath him, tumbling out of control and hitting a large boulder close at hand. His single red optic bore a nasty spider-web of cracks, and he was dented, dinged, and scratched all over. Frantically he flapped his wings and banked sharply to prevent from suffering a similar impact with the ravine wall. He was expecting to not raise in altitude and merely glide to a safe distance. Then he'd find a way back up.

But rise he did.

He flapped them even harder and rocketed up from the side of the bridge opposite to where he'd been standing not even a minute ago. He heard Bluestreak give a shout of elation, saw him on the ground jumping and hollering. Bumblebee whistled and trilled his own delight on spotting his white frame and blue wing mesh ignited by the sun, airborne once more. He looked back down to see Shockwave struggling back to his pedes. He roared in ecstasy. It worked! His stupid, completely dumb plan had actually freaking worked!

 _And he could fly still!_

His sharp optics noticed a Vehicon flanking Bluestreak from behind while he was distracted. He was about to snap a warning at him but the gunner seemed to have planned it all out. He darted under the sole pumpjack that was still, its head up in the air. The Vehicon followed him, losing track of him for a brief klik as the gunner vaulted up the pumpjack and onto its head. Switching one hand to a small blade, he sliced the cables holding it still. The head nodded down. The Vehicon heard the creak of old, rusted gears above. It looked up...

 _Crra-BANG!_

The Vehicon slumped to the ground, visor hideously cracked and it's helm almost smashed in. Sheesh. Those things were heavier than they looked! His snout curled into a smirk.

"Gotcha!" Bluestreak teased.

Good Blue. He wouldn't be able to pull that little trick twice though. The others had seen it.

He jumped down from his perch and darted back to help the others. Another shotgun round, and another Vehicon was blasted to the ground. Arcee was carving up another Vehicon with her arm-blades. An arm was sliced off, then the neck cables cut open. Bumblebee was having the most trouble, trying to fire rounds from one blaster-hand while holding the jaw under his arm tightly, looking around constantly.

Fire began to bubble in his throat. The scream of three engines met his audials, drawing his attention away from the ground fight. He turned to see the purple drone and his posse of two banking around and headed for him.

' _Oh, Soundwave. You picked a bad day to join a fight with me!_ '

He surged forward to meet the enemy head on.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Aerial dogfight incoming! Dragon Vs Drones! Who will emerge victorious?! :D**


	25. Chapter 25: Risk

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 25

* * *

Silver flashed in the sunlight as Arcee's arm blades carved off a Vehicon's arm. The unnamed mech gave a cry of pain that was quickly silenced when her blades met his throat. He fell to the ground and soon lay in a pool of shimmering blue fuel. A round from her blasters put him out of his misery for good. She glanced up in search of Bumblebee and found him with his back up against one of the buildings, three Vehicons bearing down on him from either side like sharks around a kill. Frowning, the lean femme darted for them. She fired a series of shots at one to gain its attention; she wound up distracting both. By the time the nearest drone diverted its focus from the scout she was already on top of it. The same quick flash of silver and the Vehicon fell. Its partner retaliated with blaster fire of its own. She dodged around the back the building, leapt up, and leapt off again onto the Vehicon, knocking it to the ground. She took up guard with the scout as three more of Shockwave's Vehicons came after them, still obeying the mad scientist's order.

"'Bee! Call for a 'bridge! Get the scrap outta here!" she barked.

* _I can't!_ * whined Bumblebee frantically * _Soundwave's jamming communications! We're on our own!_ *

"Scrap!"

The femme glanced to the sky in time to see Infernus's white form flash in the sunlight. Soundwave and six of his Eradicons were in hot pursuit in a classic Vosian Spear formation. The young Prime spiraled up, hung suspended for a moment, his wings semi-wrapped unfurled and wrapped around him like a cloak, then tucked them in and dove down towards the slower soldiers. He collided with one and dug his jaws into its mesh, clawed limbs raking at it viciously. She could almost see his blue optics burning with a fire that might explode out at any moment. It seemed once more the beast inside had taken over. She watched as his maw opened and a stream of fire engulfed the Eradicon's body. He released his grip and let the drone plummet to the ground to meet a fiery, explosive end dangerously close to a pumpjack nearby. He pulled up about fifty feet from the ground and went after another, screaming. The Spear shattered.

"Infernus!" she shouted. "Forget the troopers! Get Soundwave! He's jamming our comm. links!"

Infernus issued another thundering, screaming roar and rocketed up back into the sky. To start with it didn't look like he'd heard her. He began chasing down another Eradicon instead of Soundwave. A snap of his jaws forced it into a dive. He followed. Had the beast inside completely taken over this time? Was his only instinct to hunt whatever target caught his attention? That could be a problem.

"Infernus!" Arcee shouted at him once more.

She would have repeated the order but one of Soundwave's soldiers split from the group to come after her. A series of shots barreled straight towards her, the shooter drawing closer and closer. The femme rolled to one side to avoid them but one found its mark regardless. She gave a cry as the sting raced up and down her leg. Arcee gritted her denta and fought through the pain. She barked an order for Bluestreak to help cover 'Bee. When the Eradicon was practically right on top of her she darted towards the low building and leapt onto its roof just in time to leap again – and onto the Eradicon's canopy. Wind rushed past her as the flier rocketed up and began performing Aileron rolls to try to dislodge her. Arcee's arm blades dug into its mesh to keep her steady. Energon seeped out of the breaches. The already slick surface became slicker yet. Mid-roll she felt her blades begin to slide from their places. She tensed and twisted her arms to try to keep her grip, thus catching the blades beneath mesh and mechanism.

A familiar electronic chittering told her it wouldn't be enough. She leaned to one side and forced the Eradicon in another direction, narrowly missing the head of a pumpjack as it lifted up.

* * *

 _KA-KOOM!_

Bumblebee jolted when an approaching Vehicon was blasted back and fell, its helm practically blown to pieces. He jerked his helm to where the shot had come from. Something light blue and silver rushed past him in a rush of wind.

* _Thanks, Blue!_ * he whistled.

 _Honk! Honk!_ was Bluestreak's answer.

The little Miata pulled a gunned its accelerator and raced for the last two Vehicons who had leapt down into the ravine to help their superior out.

* _Careful,_ _Blue!_ * he warned. * _Keep away from the cyclops!_ *

Bluestreak gave him a wave that said plainly "No worries!" Then he leapt down into the ravine. The ring of his shotgun echoed twice, four times like a gruesome set of bells. The sound of Shockwave's pulse cannon zinged back. He heard no cry of pain, though. Bluestreak must've avoided it. He sure hoped he had anyway.

A scream forced his gaze heavenward. A look up revealed Infernus was in a steep nosedive in hot pursuit of one of Soundwave's soldiers, another right on his tail. The dragon was so close to the first one his fangs were nearly brushing its starboard wing. Even as he watched the white dragon snapped out and clamped his jaws down hard on the limb. His fangs breached the metal, and the sheer force of the bite wrinkled it. The trooper let out an agonized wail of pain. With the ground troops dealt with, Bumblebee watched as he rolled over and flung the Eradicon at its partner, the two colliding in a shattering explosion that sent both careening out of control towards the ground. Infernus himself tumbled as he tried to right himself. His optics widened in horror as one Eradicon careened towards a pumpjack and slammed into it. As the pumpjack fell to its side along with the burning soldier he thoroughly expected it to erupt in flames. It didn't.

 _BANG! BOOM!_

Fire and smoke and oil erupted in a foul-smelling firestorm, burning black sludge falling like rain. The scout winced. Fowler wasn't going to be happy when he heard about this. They already had one count of property damage; guess they were adding a second to their rap sheet.

But where was Soundwave? The Vosian Spear had shattered like glass once Infernus had rounded on them, its components scattered into single units.

Another cry forced his attention in the opposite direction from where he was looking. What he saw made his optics widen in horror. He buzzed as loudly as he could:

* _INFERNUS!_ *

The sight was that of Arcee free-falling toward the ground from well over two hundred feet in the air, sparks dancing on her slender frame. An Eradicon who looked to have been plashed with glow-in-the-dark blue paint fell beside her. Laserbeak was bearing down on the femme alongside Soundwave. He hefted his blasters fired repeatedly from them but did not succeeding in drawing either away. Then came a streak of white, a thundering scream, and the silent mech was engulfed in flames. He emerged from the firestorm scorched and weakened but still very much alive. Laserbeak gave a loud electronic chitter and wheeled on the young Prime. Fire was spat in the mini-con's direction. It rolled out of the way and shot beneath him. He looked ready to go after the mini-con, but when Arcee gave a frightened cry as she continued to plummet he abandoned the notion in an instant.

* * *

On hearing Arcee's cry, Infernus's thoughts underwent a one-eighty degree flip. His thoughts of hunting and battle, his anger – they all vanished to be replaced with horror and concern. He'd been so focused on the Eradicons that he'd neglected to see that one of the Spear was missing. Argh! He hadn't been multi-tasking his senses like Magnus had told him to! He'd even _seen_ Arcee hitch a ride for crying out loud! And then his focus had diverted entirely! He had assumed she would be able to handle herself! Handle herself! Against _fliers_!

' _Agh! Stupid, stupid!_ '

Tucking his wings in, he dove after her. He pulled up parallel to her and issue a short bark of a roar, rotating so his back faced her. Very briefly her expression exhibited shock and a bit of hesitation, but her arms then reached out and her legs tucked against his sides the same way a horse racer's would. An Eradicon tried to intercept them only be lashed at by razor claws. But where was Soundwave and his obnoxious little pet? Arcee had said to target him to get communications working again. Even as he thought that question a whine came from above and something whooshed past him in a blur of dark purple, barely missing him. He'd use the Phase Shifter but he honestly didn't know whether or not Arcee would phase through him if he did that, and he wasn't willing to take that risk. What he _was_ willing to do was clip that annoying mech's wings. Soundwave had caught him once on a bad day, and he was more than ready for some sweet, sweet payback. Actually, if Soundwave hadn't caught him and Megatron hadn't learned about the Omega Keys and the Lock, maybe he wouldn't be _in_ this situation. That had been the start of this. How he wanted to go back and undo that screw up.

A roaring scream escaped his vocalizer, and he surged after the silent communications officer. Soundwave shot ahead and banked around, nosecone pointing at him like a sniper scope. He sincerely wished he could use short-band to tell Arcee how this was supposed to go down, but until Soundwave was down for the count he was effectively mute. Hey, that was an idea – maybe he could somehow teach the others the Predacon language with some help from Grim? Then he wouldn't need to rely so heavily on short-band or comm's to talk to them in dragon form. Glyphs could work, but Soundwave would be able to translate those. A sharp pang came from his spark, and the train of thought was brought to an abrupt halt.

' _Focus, boy._ ' scolded Onyx. ' _Never permit yourself to be distracted during the hunt. It gives the prey time to study you. Or to escape._ '

He would've argued with the Firstforged Beast about multi-tasking but he decided not to. Onyx wasn't the kind of Prime you back-talked if you knew what was good for you. What he argued to himself instead was why the slag Soundwave appeared to want to play a game of chicken with a dragon. He hadn't pulled away even now, two hundred feet away from him, and that was within range of his fire breath. Well, if the Slender-mech wanted to play...he'd play with him. So he issued a scream of challenge and did not alter course. Soundwave stuck to his.

And so dragon and drone drew ever closer to collision...

* * *

"What are you doing?!" Arcee demanded. Had the mech lost his senses?!

The young Prime issued a bark-like roar at her that she couldn't understand. He did not pull away. She did note curiously his flight path was less than steady, swaying to and fro like a cobra would do. Soundwave was staying as rigid as a post. At seventy feet she braced herself for a head-on collision. Infernus did not. Two seconds went by. She thoroughly expected a collision now, but it still never happened. She lifted her helm up and un-shuttered one optic just in time to see Soundwave veer sharply off course a mere twenty feet from Infernus and shoot underneath him to avoid his maw, which had been prepped and ready to snap at him. His behavior underwent a shift then. He seemed to become acutely sensitive to his surroundings. His helm swiveled to the left, right, then up. She wondered why for a brief astrosecond.

Then once more she heard that dreaded electronic chittering...

She tensed.

Laserbeak!

"DIVE!" she ordered.

Infernus didn't need to be told twice. In fact, he'd probably heard Laserbeak before she had. She leaned forward as he tucked his wings in and rocketed towards the ground below. Wind rushed past her, but this time the free fall did not make her panic. She was safe. She had something to hold onto. A Prime was protecting her – just like Optimus always had. The ground drew nearer and nearer. Some of her panic returned regardless. The femme was not accustomed to flying. She told him to pull up once, then again in a much louder tone of voice that had been infected with fear. But Infernus did _not_ pull up. He did something else, something unexpected and ludicrously dangerous: he rolled over until he was belly plating up. She would have shouted at him that he was vulnerable to Laserbeak now, but she felt heat coming from his body, a great, scalding heat rising up. His maw gaped open. A roar split the sky apart, and an all-consuming firestorm was unleashed at the mini-con. The sky itself seemed to ignite with flame. Laserbeak dodged out of the way but still was scorched enough for its scanners to short-circuit. Unable to tell which way was up, down, left or right, the mini-con blindly rammed into a pumpjack port wing first and fell. It lay there, chittering for its master and flapping its panels like a downed bird.

The ground drew up like a freight train beneath her.

"PRIME!" she repeated. "PULL UP!"

Infernus flipped over half-way just in time for them both to collide into the stony, dusty ground of the oil field, each tumbling wildly until they skidded to their respective stops. Arcee winced as she tried to rise, her blue and silver mesh scratched to the point where it looked like she'd been attacked with a piece of sandpaper. Every part of her body hurt. From near at hand, Infernus limped over to her, favoring one paw, and helped her up letting the femme use his snout as a ballast. The look on his reptilian faceplates begged for forgiveness. Crashing hadn't been part of his plan. He hadn't mean to harm her.

Soundwave peppered them with shots as he screamed over their helms to retrieve Laserbeak. The mini-con was hooked back up and Soundwave took off again.

"Where's 'Bee and Blue?" she asked through gritted denta. She shouted hoarsely seconds later: "Blue?! 'Bee?! Where are you?! Trill or fire a round off o-or shout or something if you can hear me!"

Arcee heard a replying trill as asked, but no shotgun round and no shout. Her worry spiked. Then came a honking car horn. Seconds after that an Urbana came roaring out from behind cover and towards them like a car possessed. From above, Soundwave bore down on the brightly hued vehicle like a – well, like a predator drone on a selected target: accurate, ruthless, and with no emotion at all. Bumblebee did not stop and rocketed onwards towards the bridge. Blaster fire mercilessly rained down on the scout as Soundwave raced in closer. One found its mark in the cement in front of him, and in trying to turn and brake to avoid it he lost control and spun, transforming to get better traction. He skidded to stop. Soundwave saw to it he wasn't on his pedes for any longer than a few seconds. He rammed into him, knocking Bumblebee to the ground.

She cried out "'Bee!" as Infernus gave a worried noise that was neither roar nor scream; it almost reminded her of something feline.

The fossil threatened to slip from the scout's grasp as he tumbled, but he held onto it like his very existence depended on it. Soundwave transformed and stalked towards him, cables extending and wrapping around his prize. He yanked. Bumblebee yanked back.

* _Guys! Help!_ * whistled Bumblebee desperately as loudly as he could. Arcee might not hear him very well from his current distance, but he knew Infernus would.

A desperate tug of war ensued. Infernus took to the skies and raced towards him. Arcee followed in his stead, a sinking feeling in her spark that they wouldn't reach the scout in time. Soundwave, as history told repeatedly, never lost. Or failed.

* * *

Bumblebee's line of thinking was only slightly more optimistic than Arcee's.

As he yanked and pulled back from the faceless Communications Chief's ensnaring cables his only thoughts were to hold out long enough for his allies to reach him. Soundwave had lost his soldiers, as had Shockwave. There was no way someone as cautious as Soundwave would take on three enemies at once, one of whom could fry him alive. He'd have to flee. And so Bumblebee kept a vice grip on the fossil, the digits of one hand locked in place between the fangs while another gripped it from beneath, both limbs pulling, pulling with every ounce of strength he could muster, re-routing power to his motor relays. He dug his pedes into the cement as much as he could, sincerely wishing he had claws like Infernus. He heard a snap, and his sharp optics saw that a fang was coming free of its socket. Swiftly pulling it out, he jabbed it sharp end first into Soundwave's visor, where it impaled and cracked the surface in a spider's web fashion. He felt the mech falter. Pushing his luck while it lasted, Bumblebee struck out with a fist and hit the tooth's base, worsening the crack by forcing the tooth even further into the visor. Soundwave, losing his patience, unlatched one of his cables and swatted the scout soundly across his chassis. Bumblebee's grip on the fossil nearly slackened.

A sound assailed his audials then: a shotgun round, coming from below. The noise that came after it made his mesh tingle: the sound of Shockwave's particle cannon firing and hitting a target which he knew had to be Bluestreak. There was no mistaking that voice. Another round of the cannon and the cry was silenced. He wanted to turn to look, to jump down and assist the young gunner, but he also couldn't let Shockwave and Soundwave make off with the jaw. And until Soundwave was handled or fled the area, they were all of them stranded here.

* _Blue! Blue, hold on!_ * he whistled frantically.

The scout yanked as hard as he could. Infernus and Arcee had reached the bridge.

* _Infernus! Blue's in trouble!_ *

But then, to his surprise, Soundwave pulled back – pulled back before the scout thought to remove the fang. The faceless mech transformed in a flash of deep blue-violet and launched into the skies, circling like some lean, hungry vulture. Bumblebee watched for the tooth to fall as he fired on the predator drone, but it never did fall. Even less encouraging was Soundwave's flight pattern, which indicated he was waiting for something or someone. Infernus snarled at him and spat a stream of fire, forcing Soundwave to move or be broiled. Bumblebee heard Shockwave's cannon sound again and moments later the bridge began to tremble. Massive cracks zigzagged rapidly through the cement. Titanic segments of the bridge began to slide inevitably downwards, their own sheer weight dragging them down. Bumblebee felt himself slide, so he tried to make a break for the cliff. Arcee raced forward, transformed, and desperately reached out a hand just as he managed to get within arm's reach of her. He reached out his hand...

A great groan of metal and cement rang out, and the bridge gave way beneath them both. Cement, metal, and Autobot tumbled into the ravine. Infernus only barely managed to dodge most of the rubble, but one slab of cement fell atop one of his wings, dragged him down, and pinned him.

Water splashed.

Stone and metal slammed together.

For two sets of optics, the world went dark, an echoing scream of primal panic echoing in their processors. That, too, faded into oblivion.

For a third, a blue haze engulfed his vision as anger, fear, and hysteria made his spark race.

And for the fourth set of blue optics in the ravine, the world had been dark for roughly two minutes now.

* * *

" _BLUESTREAK!_ "

Infernus struggled in hysterical desperation to free his pinned wing, barely heeding of the pain lacing up the delicate mesh. Fire bubbled in his throat but he could not unleash it at the sight before him. For if he did, he'd burn Bluestreak as well as Shockwave. Unconscious Bluestreak. Injured Bluestreak. Bluestreak, the sibling whom he cared for the most. He'd failed to help the young gunner, and now a mad scientist was dragging him into a waiting groundbridge – Soundwave's groundbridge, into which the silent Slender-mech himself disappeared as he watched. Shockwave would do any number of unspeakable horrors on him. He'd heard stories...stories he now wished he _hadn't_ heard.

He screamed his vexation at Shockwave's retreating form. The scientist paused at the vortex's event horizon long enough to turn back and look at him. Infernus continued to scream and struggle, and unless it was his imagination being affected by his emotions, he could've sworn he saw a touch of smug pride in Shockwave's single red optic. Without a word his gaze was removed and he stomped into the portal with his prize. Infernus craned his neck and jabbed the piece of cement off his wing. Free, he charged at Shockwave. He'd reach Blue, he'd get him out of this. Everything would be okay. His neck craned out, jaws open to latch onto either mech in sheer desperation...

And his jaws soundly connected with Bluestreak's heel strut. He yanked back – not hard, but just enough for Shockwave's grip to slacken out of what might've been surprise. Shockwave wasn't in the best state either way. His fall had to have left him hurting, and his sight was damaged to boot. No way was he letting his little brother be taken captive. He'd die before that happened.

[Get your stinking paws off him or so help me I'll tear you into ribbons you sick son of a rust bucket!] Infernus snapped in a rage.

Bluestreak awoke with a pained yelp to find his middle sibling snarling like a wild animal and tugging on his leg like a canine pull toy. Noting his position and that Shockwave was seemingly paying more attention to the dragon across from him than his would-be prisoner, Bluestreak hefted an arm, reverted it weapon form, aimed it at Shockwave's already cracked single optic and said smilingly:

"Peek a boo."

 _KRA-BANG!_

Shockwave let out a cry of pain as his optic shattered almost completely from the blast, revealing the intricate wiring and circuits hidden beneath it. The scientist released his grip on the young gunner in favor of keeping a hand over his optic, Infernus dropping him and letting him get back to his trods. Energon began seeping out in thin rivulets from what remained of the red glass-like substance and out from between Shockwave's digits – not enough to be lethal but enough to be definitely disturbing to Bluestreak. His tanks churned a bit unpleasantly at the sight. Blindly he fired his cannon at the two as he stepped back into the groundbridge behind him. Whether or not Shockwave was lucky or had rapidly calculated out his blast was meaningless. Either way, one struck Bluestreak squarely in the helm, another, stronger one in his chassis, and the young gunner was blasted back and fell. Smoke rose up from his chest where some of the armor had been blasted apart.

Infernus let himself snap. If Shockwave's sight had been intact, he would have seen his _ytla_ narrow to more resemble a reptile's. The growl that escaped his throat was more true of a genuine dragon. The sound alone got the scientist thinking...

He launched forward with a screaming roar and clamped his jaws down onto that thrice-cursed weapon. Shockwave, not content for his cannon to be a chew toy, fired off a powerful blast from the wrinkling weapon. The Prime was forced to release his hold. He screamed and spat fire at the retreating form of Shockwave. Only the portal closing mere astroseconds before the fire reached him kept Shockwave from adding a plethora of burns to his repertoire of battle wounds.

The Prime's _ytla_ widened back to normal. His attention riveted on the prone, smoking pale blue and silver form near at hand. Transforming, he gently shoved at Bluestreak in an effort to wake him up.

But Bluestreak did not wake.

Infernus's optics widened. Panic gripped him.

"No, no, no. Blue, come on! Don't you dare die on me! Don't you dare!"

Not knowing what else to do, he began pinging Ratchet incessantly. Through Miko he had learned the absolute best way to get his attention was to be as persistently annoying as possible.

' _Infernus, the others._ ' Solus reminded him tersely. ' _The rubble will present no obstacle to you. Ensure the group is well before you panic over one individual._ '

"Right, right. Yeah. I'm on it."

He darted over to the mountain of rubble and passed through it like a specter. Very little light peeked through the cement and metal supports, but his olfactory sensors were picking up whiffs of sour ozone – the smell of spilled Energon. It wasn't strong but it was enough to set him worrying again. Arcee and 'Bee were hurt, too. Primus, he'd completely botched this entire fracking mission. He didn't even know if 'Bee had hung onto the jaw. If he had and none of his 'bots died, maybe then he'd consider this at least a partial success.

A minute of searching produced Arcee's frame. Gently grabbing her, he hefted the unconscious femme into his arms and made his way out. Once in the sunlight he could see just how scuffed up she looked, and she now bore some minor mesh breaks to go with her scratches and dings. A groundbridge swirled open as watched, Ratchet emerging from it with his kit. Depositing the femme, he headed back into the rubble without a word in edgewise to him. Ratchet seemed to compute that yelling at him was not productive at the moment, so he set to work on the two Autobots before him.

He found Bumblebee in about half the time – and it was all he could do to keep from letting out a bark of laughter at what he saw clenched in the scout's fist:

The jaw. He'd actually managed to hold onto it even as he'd been buried alive. A couple of the teeth had broken off but otherwise it was intact.

He shook his helm in astonishment. Freakin' 'Bee. Always going the extra klick.

The young Prime stooped down the heft the scout up, pausing when his optics whirred back to life and he began a strange, full-body coughing fit to expel the dust clogging his air vents. His optics were caked with grime and dust, though, and he could make out a few hairline cracks in them that would need mending.

* _...Optimus...?_ * he whistled faintly.

He snorted: "I wish. Nah, it's just me."

* _Oh! Oh gosh. I'm sorry, Smoke. Can't see that great right now. World's all spiderweb-y._ *

Infernus reached a hand out.

"Yeah, that's 'cause your optics have some cracks in 'em. Guess that's the downside to not being able to shutter them. Come on, let's get you outta here so the doc can fix you up."

Bumblebee accepted the hand and Infernus hefted him up to his trods, the scout phasing through the cement in the same phantom-like manner as the Prime. Some of the rubble dislodged and fell, but it never touched either mech. Infernus heard an exclamation from Ratchet. He shouted back they were both fine.

"Good! Because the instant we get back to the hangar I am going to kill you, Smokescreen!" Ratchet snapped.

Well. That was encouraging.

"Keep your hand on me. Let go and you're gonna get stuck in here."

* _Right._ *

Together they made their way out. Arcee was now awake and busily brushing off the dust caking her frame while Ratchet sealed up some of the femme's leaks. Bluestreak lay there beside her, so still he might as well have been a corpse. The smoke rising from the gunner's body was now absent, and the breach in his chassis had been covered with a brace. Infernus abandoned the scout in an instant and rushed to his sibling's side. His panic returned.

"Is he...?"

"He's alive." said the medic curtly. "But he's unstable. I need to get him back to the hangar. Did you at least secure the fossil?"

Bumblebee trilled and held up the jaw. Ratchet's response was a mere grunt. He motioned for the scout to step forward as he put a hand to side of his helm.

"Rafael?" he asked. "Re-open the groundbridge. Infernus and the others need medical attention."

* * *

 _One mission report later..._

"...You. Did. _WHAT?!_ " Ratchet bellowed.

Infernus winced. He counted himself lucky Grimwing was not in the hangar. The Thunderbird might've snapped the old medic's helm off for his tone.

"We got the fossil, didn't we? And everyone's in one piece."

Bumblebee raised a hand as if in class and emitted a whistling trill. Ratchet didn't notice, and Infernus was too busy trying to argue to pay the sound any notice.

"Do you have _any_ idea of the risks you took?! You could've been killed! And Bluestreak very nearly was! You're lucky he's not dead after leaving him on his own with Shockwave!"

"Ratchet makes a valid point, Prime." Prowl said in his typically cold manner. "The number of life-threatening risks you took was highly illogical. You should not think so little of your own safety. If we lose you...the War might as well be over. And you should never, _never_ leave an ally alone with an opponent as dangerous as Shockwave. Adaptive as Bluestreak may be, Shockwave is far more so and has greater firepower."

"I didn't _mean_ to leave him on his own, Prowl!" Infernus nearly snapped. " _You_ try being turned into a Predacon and having aggressive hunting coding put into you and see how _you_ fare in a dogfight! Strategy goes out the slagging airlock!"

"Stop!" Rafael cried.

The arguing titans fell silent. Blue gazes zeroed in on the tween. He looked distressed, and Infernus could distinctly pick up a wash of stress chemicals.

"Just. _Stop!_ " Rafael reiterated. "Fighting isn't going to help Bluestreak recover! It's not helping anyone! Yes, the team got the fossil – but Infernus made a few mistakes along the way and some people got hurt. You don't need to _yell_ at him over it! He knows he messed up! If you asked him, he'd tell you he wouldn't make those mistakes again!"

Bumblebee whistled again and raised a hand up. This time he was heard. Focus shifted from the boy to the scout.

* _We didn't get the whole fossil, Ratchet. When I was fighting Soundwave, one of the dental plates came out. I made the most of it by jabbing it into Soundwave's visor. Other fangs are missing because they fell off during the bridge collapse. Is one fang enough for Shockwave to create a clone?_ *

"Yes. One strand of genetic material contains all the necessary data to create a clone. Every part of us contains that genetic fingerprint."

"Great..." Arcee deadpanned.

"However, the jaw provides a fairly accurate scale for the beast's original size. It is a rough estimate, but this creature would be easily over eighty feet in length if archaeological records on Predacon physiology are accurate, perhaps longer. Shockwave would need resources to create such a beast – resources that are difficult or near to impossible to acquire during wartime. There is a very high probability he will not be able to clone this Predacon with his current supplies."

"So...no sea monster?" Jack hazarded.

Ratchet nodded. "There is a very low chance of it."

"Then why go after the fossil at all if he can't use it?" asked Rafael.

Ratchet snorted and that said they probably went after the fossil to keep it from falling it Autobot hands. Even if they couldn't make use of the find, they would slagging well ensure the enemy couldn't use it either. Of course, it wasn't like they had the resources to create such a creature either way, or the necessary knowledge. Cloning was a complicated and commonly thought "unethical" business.

"So, on a switch of subject...what about the Wreckers? When did they leave? And have they reported in yet?" Infernus wondered.

"Left shortly after your departure once they had finished downloading numerous files on Scottish mythology. As of this moment they are approximately an hour out and nearing the eastern seaboard. They decided it was best to take the Iron Will over a groundbridge. The ship has electromagnetic cloaking which renders it more difficult for Soundwave to track. Using it equates to a much longer mission duration, but a safer one come the conclusion."

Grimwing strode in at that particular moment in time and space.

"Grim! Did you find Miko?" Jack asked.

Infernus's optics widened and he interjected in a flash: "Whoa, wait. Hang on. Nobody bothered to mention to me that Miko's missing?"

"We would have informed you but we were unable to reach you owning to a block in your communications equipment." Grimwing explained to him. He refocused his attention on the black-haired youth and reported: "I found no sign of your _ak'is_ , young man. However, her scent was unusually strong in the hangar that, until recently, housed Ultra Magnus's personal vessel."

Infernus's single ensuing word effectively summed up what everyone else was thinking:

"Frack."

* * *

 **Author's Note: Sweet Primus! I've been so overworked with college stuffs I've barely had time to write. D: Seriously, I have two exams on Tuesday, a History presentation on Monday, Wednesday, or Friday (and the guys in our group have still done squat for their parts), math homework due Tuesday, and a Psych and History paper that was due today. Not to mention I got no sleep last night until around 3 or 4 a.m. and then slept in till noon.**

 **Look college: I like being busy, but I don't like being so overworked I fall into a miniature nervous breakdown for a week at a time. :/**

 _Reviews are now visible again. xD_


	26. Chapter 26: Stowaway

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 26

* _Note to Kaleia: Glad you enjoyed! That battle was fun as heck to write! :D After watching the two How to Train Your Dragon films I got inspired. And yeah, poor kid's still gettin' the hang of those beast urges. That will be a bit of a point in this: What happens when you turn a modern Cybertronian into a Predacon? How will it affect them psychologically with all that foreign coding implanted into them, not to mention a full-body makeover to go along with it? Let's just say some formerly introduced characters will be having a part that aspect of the series._

 _Seriously. It's Miko. How did you not see that coming? xD_

 _*Note to Guest: Holy hell. Hold your horses, buddy. I put the chapter out and you instantly say "Please update." It's not like I can magically make the next chapter appear or something. I have college to deal with, and I can't exactly write one of these chapters in an hour. :P Trust me, I've timed myself._

 _*Also, this is a much longer "episode arc" than most others, because we're also going to visit Ireland and some of the isles as well. Scottish and Irish lore are very similar. There's also something very interesting there that I think warrants some investigation...but first things first: Scotland!_

* * *

"I freaking told her to stay put! And she just ignores me! Are you kidding me?!"

Out of sheer exasperation the Prime flung his arms in the air. An untranslatable noise escaped his vocalizer that sounded like a groan, moan, and scream of annoyance and indignation.

"I _told her_ to stay here. I freaking _told_ her! And here I thought she was actually listening to me! I thought we had some kind of understanding!"

Jack honestly felt a little sorry for him. He'd gone off to El Paso without the slightest idea of what was going on on the home front and came back with a wounded ally and a Predacon jaw to find out one of his human charges had decided to play truant stowaway with the Wreckers. Miko probably hadn't realized in hindsight how much of a stress explosion that was to him, having to worry about her on top of everything else. Then again, he doubted she ever would stop to think about the future ramifications of her actions. She was the kind of person who lived on excitement and impulse, going through life with her foot on the accelerator and dodging through oncoming traffic. Only rarely would she stop to shift her foot onto the brake.

"Infernus, it's okay." he reassured him. "She wouldn't have listened to you either way. Telling Miko what to do is like trying to tell a cat what to do. They just don't listen. I'm not even sure you could've _stopped_ her. Miko would've found a way to dodge around you and go with them. And it's not the disaster you make it sound like. It's not like she went off on her own or anything. She's with the Wreckers. They'll keep her safe."

The young Prime's agitation began to die down. Ratchet tossed Jack a grateful look.

"...Magnus is _not_ gonna be thrilled about finding her, Jack." Infernus reminded the youth stiffly. "You and I both _both_ know that. And trust me, the mech's not exactly famous for his people skills."

"So...what are supposed to do about her?" Rafael wondered, adjusting his glasses. "I don't think we could ask them to turn around and bring her back or drop her off somewhere so we can 'bridge her here. The 'Cons would be able to detect the groundbridge, and wherever they stop to drop her off that's where the 'bridge would have to be. Find the 'bridge, find the team. Not to mention it would be a waste of fuel."

Infernus considered for a moment. Raf made a pretty good point. Asking the Wreckers to hightail it back to base when they were already near the eastern seaboard was a waste of time and Energon, and stopping to 'bridge her back would alert the 'Cons to their location – something Magnus was trying to avoid. He hemmed. There was of course the simple possibility of just letting her stay with them...but that might just reinforce to her that her truant behavior was totally fine. Bad association to go making there. What other choice was there though?

"Prowl's probably gonna smack me for saying this." he said. "But I think our best bet here is to just let her stay with them. I mean, who knows? She might be useful."

* _So long as she doesn't go picking a fight with a Vehicon and alerting the entire 'Con army to their location._ * Bumblebee trilled dryly.

He smirked: "Point."

Just as he thought, Prowl glowered at him. "That is the most ill-conceived strategy I have ever heard put forth. The female native is a liability, Prime, not an asset. She is too small and too frail to be of practical use in a fight, she is not armed or armored, and she has shown a consistent passion for disobeying authority and endangering herself for thrills. Should the enemy capture her and not immediately terminate her, she would be leverage for bargaining. No, the moment they land in the highlands she should be transported back via groundbridge."

"And by doing that we'd alert the 'Cons." Arcee deadpanned. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm with Infernus on this one. I know it sounds ridiculous, Prowl, but consider our other option is to put the team at risk. That's not a tactical decision. The Commander would say the same thing. You know that better than I do. We got hammered at El Paso thanks to the 'bridge tracking. A 'bridge would alert the 'Cons in an astrosecond. Besides, she's not completely helpless, you know. She can handle herself. She's been in worse spots and come out alright."

"Like being stuck in an alternate dimension with a zombie with me and Raf." Jack suggested. "That was a weird day..."

The white and black tactician seemed to find the idea about as believable as the Unmaker himself being thousands of klicks beneath his trods. It was utterly preposterous. Pocket dimensions were believable, as his race were wont to use them in daily life, but entire alternate realities? Not even the brightest physicists had been able to prove that.

"...You should be more concerned about this than you are, Prime." he said.

"Believe me, Prowl. I may not _look_ it but I'm _plenty_ worried. I've got a bunch of robotic demigods in my helm saying there are roughly a hundred ways for this situation to go south. I've just learned that mindless panic over something that would've happened either way is totally and completely pointless. Roadblocks like this are bound to happen with her. Sometimes you just gotta roll with it."

"And hope for the best." Grimwing finished.

"Exactly." Infernus nodded. "Just...cross your digits and hope Miko doesn't do anything totally nuts."

Ratchet snorted.

* * *

In hindsight, hiding behind Wheeljack's crate of explosives probably wasn't the smartest idea she'd ever had. But she did have to say that hitchhiking and eavesdropping _definitely_ was. Best. Decision. _Ever_. It would be like an Indiana Jones movie – in Scotland! Now there was somebody with his priorities right. Life got boring without a little adventure and risk-taking. And hey, he did it for a good cause. So were they. The boredom was a killer though. She'd refrained from texting or playing games on her phone to help conserve battery life, but the conversations were only interesting at times. That discussion about kelpies and water bulls about ten minutes out had been real cool, but the _Sidhe?_ Eh. Interesting as that had been, she just wasn't much into faeries. They had to be getting close now, right? She couldn't even see the scanner map thingy from where she was, and it wasn't like she had GPS on her phone or anything.

"What exactly are we gonna even be looking for?" Wheeljack asked. "I need some mission parameters here so I know what to bring."

Ultra Magnus shot him a disapproving look filled with muted aggression. The white Wrecker merely rolled his optics at him. Bulkhead intervened for the zillionth time. Miko personally wondered about the friction between the two. Bulk had made it seem like the Wreckers were a bunch of lean, mean killing machines that no sane 'Con wanted to mess with, and here one of them was arguing with another.

"I-I think what 'Jackie means is that he'd like to have some specifics over what our priority targets are gonna be. Sir."

That is dependent." Ultra Magnus replied, appeased. "The data from old sources has been reviewed and there are some creatures and locations of interest. In particular I find the mythology of the Scottish dragons, the Pech, and the _Aos Sí_ and anything relating to them to be our priority targets. There are still natives who believe in many of these folkloric entities, but I have not discovered any modern day reports of strange creatures. Either that means our beasts are all long dead or they are in hiding for one reason or another. As for locations – searching the area around the megalithic stone structures and mounds would be best. Those are often attributed to either the Pech or the _Aos Sí._ If we find nothing of note here, Ireland was also inhabited by the Celts and their mythology mirrors the Scottish."

Miko's interested was piqued. Hide? What kind of giant metal beast would hide? They were giant! They were made of metal! They could breathe fire!

"Yeah, but I thought Raf said all those stone circles and stuff were astronomical?" Bulkhead wondered. "Like giant calendars?"

"There might be a reason for that. We are not from this planet. We came from the stars. Not only were they used to chart the positions of celestial bodies, they might also have been used as a form of...story-telling or appeasement or even power funneling. The Predacons were and are powerful beings. Perhaps the ancient Celts believed they could draw on their power through building such structures. And, of course, no one knows _how_ precisely the Celts moved the stones that were used to build the circles, as they did not have access to modern technology. There are theories but no solid evidence for any of them."

Bulkhead stared. "You thinkin' they might've helped, sir?"

"Perhaps." said the larger mech noncommittally. "We have seen that Predacons will form alliances with the natives. And we know through Grimwing and the feathered serpents of Mesoamerica that not all Predacons are inherently violent. Some at least are cooperative and relatively peaceful."

Both Wreckers lapsed into silence. Miko seriously wished she had a means of hacking into their minds or something to see what they were thinking. She was so jealous that they could download so much info, store it, review it like a human would a Word document, and even wirelessly hook up to computers and stuff. At least that's what Raf said. He might as well be half 'Bot himself. Bored again, she let out a soft huff and stretched out, back against the crate. She hated being forced to slow down and relax but what other option was there? A stowaway had to play it low or they'd get caught and bad things would happen. The last thing she wanted was to be discovered too soon and forced back the hangar. Booooring.

She felt the ship bank, the engines fire. Soon its flight became smoother than a passenger plane. She heard pedefalls come her way and panicked, a sudden rush of adrenaline making her heart race. Had she done something to alert them? Would she be discovered – sent back? Frantically she looked around for another hiding place as the pedefalls drew dangerously close. There was a little nook type thing near her where the metal bent; tight, but it looked like she'd fit. She darted over to it, registering a dreaded plastic clattering sound, and slipped in, hunching up and hoping the slight overhang and shadow kept her hidden. Looking back, she was horrified to see her phone lying just behind the crate where it had fallen – and saw Wheeljack kneel down and begin examining his explosive cache. He picked one grenade up, tossed it up and down and attached it to his hip. The white Wrecker got up and made to leave. Miko breathed a sigh of relief.

And then Wheeljack did a double take.

' _Scrap!_ ' Miko thought. ' _I'm done for!_ ' She wedged herself further in, eyes wide.

"Hey, Bulk?" Wheeljack called. "C'mere."

The green Wrecker ambled over to him. "Yeah?"

Miko freaked out even more when Wheeljack managed to "pick up" the phone by somehow attaching it to his digit. He held it up to show his pal.

"Isn't this the kid's communicator?"

Bulkhead's optics widened a little. His face became confused.

"Her cell phone. Yeah. That's weird. Normally she keeps it on her like a magnet. Wonder how it got here?"

"Is there a problem, soldiers?" Magnus called back to them.

Miko nearly cursed aloud when he set the ship to autopilot and joined them. She was so royally screwed.

"I dunno whether it's a problem." Wheeljack admitted. "But seems his little friend dropped her communicator on your ship. No idea when."

The tall blue and maroon mech focused on the green Wrecker. "Did the female native have it on her the last time you met?" the taller mech wondered.

"I'm...honestly I'm not sure, sir. I'm so used to seeing it by now I don't even think about it."

Ultra Magnus examined her cell phone with a keen optic. It was all Miko could do to keep her breathing steady and quiet. He eventually took the phone from Wheeljack and made his way to the front of the ship.

"I will store it in the deadbox for safe-keeping. When we return we will see it restored to its rightful owner. My ship is not shielded from terrestrial wireless devices and the Decepticons could track the signal if it attempts to connect to a relay tower as we near land. Hopefully it was not attempting any connections as we crossed the continent."

Miko blinked and winced. She hadn't even thought about that. Lucky her that cell signals usually sucked in the middle of the ocean.

Satisfied that none of the mechs were aware they had a hitchhiker but annoyed that they'd basically stolen her phone from her, the girl slunk out of hiding and resumed her position behind the explosives crate. She still couldn't see the map thingy so she didn't know how close they were to Scotland, but the ship felt like it was going real fast, way faster than even the fastest plane. Letting out a sighing huff, she put her back against the crate and tried to think of ways to entertain herself – _without_ revealing herself. That was probably going to be a lot harder than it sounded. No music, no phone, no talking to her friends. Nothing. All she had to listen to was the occasional bit of talking between the Wreckers and the sounds of the ship. Not exactly _entertaining_.

She just had top hope they got there before she _really_ got bored. This was gonna drive her nuts.

* * *

Ultra Magnus had the ship on autopilot but all the same he remained in the pilot's seat, optics on the motion sensors and on the clouds below them. No one had stopped the consider it, not even Prowl, but there was the distinct risk of the bronze Draconian attacking them on the way or on site. It had found his Wreckers once before and nearly slaughtered them. There was no reason to think it would not happen again. Vigilance alone would keep himself and his soldiers safe. The beast was fast, strong, and dangerous, and the scanners had a range on them – if it ambushed the Iron Will from below the clouds they would barely have time to react.

But he was a skilled multi-tasker. Even as he watched the skies and scanners, he was reviewing archaeological data and the myths and folklore of the Celts. The cellular device Wheeljack had found troubled him, however, distracting his line of thought within only a few minutes.

' _How did the communicator arrive on my ship?_ ' he wondered idly. ' _If it is here it must mean the female native somehow got aboard, possibly quite recently. Bulkhead's words indicate she would have reported it missing at once. But how did it come to be here of all places? She cannot board without the help of the hatch ramp; she is too small, and the hangar my ship was housed in had a small guard attached to it. Could she have slipped by? If she did, why was I not informed of it? Military protocol dictates such incidents be reported at once._ '

He shook his helm. This was troubling. Without the device the native possessed no ready means of communicating to her allies if they were some distance from her, and he knew through the native called Fowler that the Decepticons were not above native abductions – or torturing said abductees to gather intelligence. Should she be captured before he returned it she would be mute. He would inform the doctor of this dangerous oddity, but he and the Wreckers were under orders of radio silence, and they were not to break it until their arrival, nor were they to use it frequently. Every precaution needed to be taken to ensure the mission was accomplished covertly.

The mech leaned forward onto the controls, elbows firmly but gently planted in place, hands intertwined and supporting his chin. He resumed his watch and research, but now his expression was thoughtful – thoughtful and concerned. He now had one extra problem to ponder. He hoped the young female was safely in the hangar. He didn't need any more problems.

"Sir?" Bulkhead asked.

Ultra Magnus glanced back. "Yes?"

"...You think Miko's okay? If she leaves her phone it's usually by accident, but accidents with her tend to cause...problems."

Wheeljack snorted. "That's an understatement." That girl was a magnet for trouble. But brave he had to admit. He liked that about her. She'd saved his sorry spark by blasting Hardshell into scrap metal.

The pilot blinked.

"The device was on my ship. There are no dangers on site nor on the vessel. I sincerely doubt she has come to harm. I suspect someone may have helped her gain access at some point recently, possibly one or more of the military personnel, and she dropped it here without even being fully aware of it. Considering your evidence and what I have observed of her behavior firsthand that seems likely."

Bulkhead breathed a sigh of relief. Most of the Wreckers had loathed Magnus because of his cautious attitude towards basically everything (the mech was never willing to tasks risks) but he had generally liked his cool, calm, cautious logic. Sometimes it was a little bit annoying. But sometimes, when it really mattered, it could be reassuring. Hope and reassurance were hard to come by when you were outnumbered and outgunned by the enemy.

* * *

 _Two hours later..._

Miko woke with a start when she felt the ship lurch. Adrenaline pumped into her veins. She thought for a second they were under attack. But when it didn't happen again and she heard no shouting or blaster fire or anything the thought vanished. Excitement replaced fear when Magnus deployed the hatch ramp. The ship had lurched because it had _landed_ , not because of any attack.

' _Finally!_ '

She slowly got to her feet and peeked from around the explosive crate. Wheeljack had the one grenade he needed so she didn't need to worry about him coming back until after he used it. And by then she'd be in the field with them and helping, so she wouldn't need to stay hidden. They wouldn't send her back 'cause she'd prove she could be helpful to them, that she was as tough as they were. 'Jackie and Bulk would defend her being here. They liked her. She was one of them. Magnus might groan and gripe about it but he'd get over it once she proved her worth. Hopefully, anyway. 'Jackie had been a bit skeptical of her to start with but he'd come around in the end. Magnus would do the same. Wouldn't he? She'd helped draw the 'Cons away from their super fortress, hadn't she? What more proof did the guy need?

She darted after them as they exited the ship, too thrilled to bother to look at the map scanner thing; she wasn't that great at geography anyways. They'd tell her where they were. And then off to adventure! Mark had gotten to meet a real live Predacon that hadn't tried to kill them. Now she would, too!

Ahead of her was a vast expanse of rolling green hills. Puffy clouds rolled along in the skies. Mountains loomed in the near distance. Up on one of the peaks she could've sworn she saw something flash in the sunlight, like it was made of metal. But then it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Had that been a Predacon? A car? Were they being watched already? Her eyes weren't playing tricks on her, she was sure of that – she'd definitely seen _something_ up there. If they'd been spotted by a civilian they were in so much trouble.

But an entire island to explore...oh, where would she even _start_? Free reign on an entire island! If only she had her phone though. She could use that to snap pictures and video evidence if she found anything. But Magnus had locked it up on his ship. Wasn't like Indian Jones relied on cell phones. So neither would she. Besides, he's said her phone was a danger because the 'Cons could lock onto the signal. She could make do without. And maybe she'd find a friendly Pred who could help her get onto the ship so she could get her phone – and impress them even more! So, grinning, she went in the opposite direction the Wreckers were heading. The big guy had mentioned something about burial mounds and stone circles. She'd look for one and she'd start there. He'd said they were all over the island, so she was bound to run across one at _some_ point, right? She didn't even know which island this was though. She dimly remembered from her classes that Scotland was only one of many islands. There were a couple others that were nearby, Ireland being one of them. She brushed that aside. Maybe she'd run into some hikers and she could get some directions.

' _Right!_ ' she thought. ' _Stone circle or mound thingy_ – _here I come!_ '

* * *

A dark, mottled green form the size of a calf peeped out from its hiding place behind a boulder up on the grassy cliffs, its large metal ears pricked straight up as it listened. He could hear the chatter from the other metal beings below it, but he dared not reveal himself to an Autobot. Too many of his kin had perished at their hands in the past. Safer to stay hidden. Even the folk of the island had at one point tried to hunt them down. It had taken thousands of years for them to become rumor and superstition. And unfortunately not everyone was gifted with the ability to keep their mouths shut.

He opened a comm. channel: [Ramhorn? Yae got sights on 'em too, aye?]

[Aye, that I do.] replied another male voice. [We need ta tell the others afore we hit trouble. Meet at Barpa Langass. Bring the others, and stay outta sight.]

[Nae need ta tell me twice.] replied the mottled green hound.

But he did not move out right away. He focused on the Autobots for a short time, satisfying himself they were headed west, not north. The girl, however, was headed in a northerly direction towards their meeting place. That could mean trouble. He did note she bore no weapons. She was nowhere near the threat the Autobots were. A thought struck him then – was the girl a prisoner and had she escaped their clutches? That might explain why she'd split from them. If so he felt obligated to help her.

Belly plates brushing the soft grass, Tag-Along activated his color-mimicking outer armor and slunk after the girl. He'd keep an optic on her and guide her safely towards the cairn. She would be safe there until the Autobots were off the island. The Seelies would ensure that. The Canipid just had to hope their enemies would would not bother them today. Their attacks had become far more frequent of late. Trying to help civilians and remain aloof and hidden from them was no easy feat.

* * *

Miko forewent running after a minute of it, panting heavily. She had no idea where the heck she was even headed, and she hadn't brought water or snacks with her. She didn't even have any cash on her.

The grass rustled behind her. She spun but saw no one aside from the Wreckers driving off into the Highlands and vanishing over a hill. The girl turned, sincerely wishing she had a phone. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something move, but when she turned to see what it was there was nothing to be seen. On edge now, she picked up a stone and aimed it at thin air. She heard something that sounded like heavy breathing and threw it at the source. There was a clang as it hit something metallic. A nightmarish sound like a bellow and a horse whiny followed it, and the air before her shimmered to reveal a horse that surprisingly wasn't that much larger than one of those big workhorses. It was made of sickly green metal that dripped with some kind of liquid that made the grass beneath it wither at a single drop. Its eyes burned red as it reared back. Its hooves kicked wildly.

She screamed.

* * *

Bulkhead slammed on his breaks the moment he heard the scream. He spun around and transformed, wildly scanning the hills. His spark nearly stopped at what he saw less than five miles away: a familiar young Asiatic teen girl in bright pink and black clothes. Looming over her was some sort of metal horse with red optics and a bright violet Decepticon crest on its flank, hooves kicking at her. Nightmarish noises were escaping its throat.

" _MIKO!_ " he thundered in panic.

He didn't even wonder how the Pit she'd gotten here. He transformed and roared in her direction. That horse meant to kill her. He could see it in the thing's optics.

"Bulkhead!" Magnus bellowed. "This enemy is unknown to us! We must strategize!" Idly he registered this beast as one of the smallest they'd encountered thus far, yet it was still larger than the Gwyllgi had been. And despite it lacking fangs and claws he had no cause to think those hooves would inflict any less damage. Blunt force damage was equally devastating than that brought on by sharp weaponry.

Wheeljack snapped at him: "Frack strategy and get your over-sized rear in gear! That _thing_ ain't gonna wait for us!"

The white Wrecker raced after Bulkhead, pedal floored. There was no way they were getting there in time. They were only halfway to her and the thing's hooves were already starting to come down on her. It'd crush her skull into powder.

Shock rippled between the Wreckers as a flash of mottled green light appeared just beside Miko to reveal the form of a large dog with a Decepticon insignia on its shoulder. Its massive paw slammed into the horse's neck like boxing gloves and made it stagger to the side. The dog growled and batted the horse again, never letting its paw remain in contact with its metal hide for more than a few milliseconds at a time. Miko tried to dart around the two brawling beasts but their limbs stamped down wherever she tried to run, and the weird liquid dripping from the horse she was pretty sure _wasn't_ something she should let touch her. Not only was it killing the grass, every time the dog's paw met with it there was a sound like hissing steam. She needed an opening. She yelped when the dog was replaced with green light – and it and the horse vanished like ghosts. The hair on the back of her neck was standing on end, and the air around her felt...it was hard to describe. _Buzzed_ maybe, like it had been shooting up energy drinks. It made her skin tingle. A second later and the dog reappeared as if by magic, almost dropping on top of her. Miko noticed its paws were smoking. Its head whipped in the direction of the approaching Autobots. It then looked down at her and plucked her up in its jaws by the neck of her shirt. She shrieked and struggled instinctively.

"I am _not_ about to be your dinner, mutt!" she shouted. "Put me down!"

Uselessly she kicked the dog's upper chest. It didn't even react. But she noticed its red optics – they weren't the mindlessly aggressive ones of the bronze dragon or the weird horse. They actually had a glimmer of _fear_ in them as the dog sized up the charging Wreckers. That was weird. Predacons weren't afraid of anything. The Gwyllgi had attacked mechs twice its size, and Grimwing hadn't exactly ran from the intruders in his home.

Before she could even register what was happening the world around her began to glow bright green. In less than a second the light engulfed her and the dog, and the hills and valleys and cliffs were no more.

"MIKO!" Bulkhead bellowed.

But it was no use. Bulkhead, Wheeljack, and Ultra Magnus skidded to a stop where empty air now stood in place of the two. She and the dog were gone, no trace of them left.

* * *

 _Location: Decepticon warship Nemesis  
_

On a display screen tucked within one of the quieter areas of the vessel. Staring at it intently through his visor-masked face was Soundwave. On the screen was video feed from the other day that showed the interactions of Ravage and the Predacon within the launch bay hangar. Though he could not understand what was being said owing to the series of clicks, growls, screeches and other such unidentifiable sounds, he knew the signs of communications better than anyone. Shockwave would need to know about this if he was not already aware. The communication might be innocent...or it might not be.

The screen beeped. The silent mech tapped a digit onto the console and the image changed from video feed to a map of an island off the European coast which they were rapidly approaching. Another series of beeps occurred, and signals erupted across that island and those near it. Twelve of them in total. The latter he knew to be chip signals from Shockwave's Predacons, but the former – he honestly did not believe what his optics and the ship itself was telling him. It was faint, so faint that only the ship's sensor array could have detected it...and it overlapped one of the signals. He tapped into the slumbering ship's sensors and issued a request.

[ _Request. Confirmation._ ]

[ _Confirmation. Tachyon particle reading. Accuracy: 99.99%_ ]

Even as he watched, the signal in question traveled a spectacular distance of well over one hundred fifty klicks in the span of an astrosecond, taking another signal with it, then bounced back to where it had been previously just as swiftly, leaving the other signal where it had been a moment before. So Soundwave pinged Shockwave and sent him the data readings.

[Have Starscream ready the Predacons.] Shockwave answered. [Our priority is the Energon, but the Predacons on the island are no less important. The more we add to our arsenal, the simpler it will be to exterminate the Autobot opposition.]

[ _Understood._ ] droned the spy.

And the signal was sent on to the Seeker.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Muahahaha :P**


	27. Chapter 27: Shipjacking

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 27

* * *

Miko yelped again once the flash faded. When her eyes opened she noticed she was no longer out on the hills. She was in some sort of cave-thing now, but the round shape made her think it wasn't natural. She wasn't great at geography, sure, but she knew what a real cave looked like. This didn't match. A closer look at the walls revealed what looked like stones or bricks or something, confirming her suspicion. Yup, someone had made this. Hang on. Was this one of those burial mounds Magnus had mentioned? At least she'd found one.

Oh, and she was still in the jaws of a giant green teleporting dog apparently. Couldn't forget that.

"Put me down, mutt!" she demanded fiercely. "I'm not dinner!"

She lurched her lower body and landed a kick on the dog's upper chest only to wince at the pain that shot up her foot. The dog didn't even flinch. She expected to be thrown like a rag doll or snapped up right then and there, but neither of those options played out. Instead, to her astonishment, the dog issued a whine and gently dropped her feet-first onto the stone floor. It backed away as if scared or nervous, tail down and metal ears back. Then it slowly approached and sniffed at her. She backed away. This thing had teleported her away from her friends into a burial mound, so she had no idea where the heck she even was – and it acted like it wanted to know if she was okay.

"Um...what's going on?" she asked. "Where am I? Who are you? Am I dinner or not?"

"Nae need te worry abou' that last bit, lassie." said a voice. She was a little relieved that it was a girl's voice and it sounded like it was trying not to laugh. "We daennot eat humans. Nae energy value. All ye'd do is mess up our insides."

Miko looked around wildly to find the new voice, sorely wishing she had night-vision like a cat or her phone to act as a flashlight. Ugh. Why'd she have to drop her phone? She'd be able to call for help if she had it and get the heck out of here. But here she was stranded in a burial mound who knew where, and the giant green dog was busy guarding the only exit. Great. Looked like she was stuck here for now. The dog didn't seem so bad though. Kinda friendly, actually.

Her eyes focused on a shadowy form near the wall that had bright green eyes that shone in the dark. When it moved forward she recognized what it was: a 'bot. A girl 'bot like Arcee, but way smaller. She was pitch black aside from a white splotch on her chest that seemed like it put out a very soft light. Since she hadn't seen it earlier did that mean she could control whether or not it lit up? Kinda cool if so. What she found even cooler was that she had a very obvious cat design to her body, the top of the cat's head on her chest. But Miko hesitated on noticing the purple 'Con crest on her upper arm. This was still a 'Con, no matter if she was saying she and her doggy friend weren't gonna eat her.

"Easy, lassie." the cat femme said in her purr of a voice. "We're nae going te hurt ye. Floodshed woulda stomped ye flat if Taggy here hadn't warped ye here te safety. Nasty blighter that one. Speakin' o' which – 'ow're yer paws, Taggy?"

The green dog whined and lay down. He displayed his paws as the cat femme came forward to look. Miko winced on seeing them. She knew what a dog's paws were supposed to look like, and this dog's paws looked like they'd been badly burned or melted or something. Some of the metal still smoked. The cat femme clicked and knelt to examine them more closely. Miko couldn't resist and crept a little closer to see for herself. She'd seen a lot of battle damage thanks to the 'Bots but this was new. Whatever that horse had been dripping could not only kill plants but melt alien metal. Yeesh. Nasty stuff.

"What've I told ye about boxin' with that blighter, ye namby _ultze'o_?" she scolded. Miko had to admit she certainly didn't sound evil. Actually, she sounded kinda like Jack's mom – if Jack's mom was a hardcore Scots woman turned cat Predacon.

A sigh escaped after she softly blew away the smoke. "I take it ye warped 'im someplace 'e can't get out of fer a while?" She gently massaged the paws. Why she was doing that Miko couldn't guess. Question for Ratchet once she got back maybe? If she got back...

A whine and a nod was the answer. The cat turned her focus back on her. Miko tensed and backed away.

"Easy, easy. Like I said, we daennot eat humans. Taggy was just trying te help, but 'e saw the Autos and panicked. He thought they might hurt 'im and ye as well."

"Hurt me?" Miko exclaimed. "They're my _friends_! They were coming to _help_ _me_!"

Both the cat femme and the dog looked at her sharply. They shared a glance.

" _Help_ ye?" repeated the cat femme incredulously.

Miko answered heatedly: "Yes! Help me! Now they're probably freaking out!"

There was an eerie silence in the chamber. The dog's metal ears folded back as he whined and put his head down. That wasn't the sound of a sparkless killer. That was the sound of someone who realized they'd just made a mistake and wished they could go back and change it. So if the Predacons here were so decent despite being 'Cons...why had the horse tried to kill her? Wasn't like a rock could hurt a 'bot. Maybe the horse just had anger issues? But the cat had said the horse wasn't generally nice. Then again, anyone who dripped killer chemicals had to be a less-than-nice person.

"Ye got a name, lassie?" the cat femme wondered.

Though still hesitant, she answered after a minute: "Miko."

The smile the cat femme gave her was winning. "I'm Catscratch. Ye've already met Tag-Along."

"And the freaky horse?"

"Floodshed." came a second new voice.

All three heads turned to the entrance of the mound to see a mech about the same size as Catscratch standing there. This little mech was colored a dark bronze with lighter hues around his optics and on his upper arms and lower legs. On his head were two curling horns that looked more like they belonged on a big-horned sheep. His feet were even more unusual. Miko was used to Cybertronian feet looking a lot like a human's, but these looked like actual freaking goat hooves – an obvious split in the middle with two, tipped oval halves on either side. She'd seen something like this before, in the museum the Harvester had been in and in her Art History class. She totally forgot what it was called. Kinda hard to think when your body and mind were both freaking out about the possibility of dying in a cave at the hands of metal alien beasts.

"Floodshed?" Miko repeated. "Cat-lady here mentioned him. What the heck is that guy's deal? I got spooked, I threw a rock. Then he tries to kill me. It was a _rock_."

"He's loyal." said the goat-mech. "As are we."

Miko's eyes widened. Uh-oh. If they were still loyal to the 'Cons, then she was neck-deep in trouble.

"Ramhorn!" Catscratch scolded. "Daen't spook the lass!"

The goat-mech issued a snort. Miko got the feeling he wasn't one of the friendliest of the tiny beasts, and Catscratch was like the group spokesbot. Nice to see a girl in charge of a bunch of guys. Tag-Along didn't seem so bad though – a little upset maybe, but he'd just been trying to help her according to the cat femme. He'd just read the situation wrong. Grimwing had been part of a misunderstanding himself. Hey, nobody was perfect. But still. These _were_ Decepticons. Just because they weren't instantly killer nutjobs didn't mean she was safe with them, and they didn't trust the 'Bots...and she was _with_ the 'Bots. That might label her as one of the bad guys.

She backed away when Ramhorn stepped into the gloom, sorely wishing she had her phone.

' _Come on, Bulk. I need you..._ '

* * *

Bulkhead had stood there stunned. Time ticked by, but he was oblivious to it.

Miko. Miko had just been taken from right in front of his optics by a strange green dog that could teleport after being attacked by a green horse beast. This was just too much – too much for him to process right away.

He jolted out his shock when Magnus's field flared like a supernova. ~ _Urgent_ ~ ~ _Find_ ~ In a rumble of his engine he transformed and raced off to where he'd left his ship. In a bit of a daze, the green Wrecker and his white friend raced after him. Magnus had an idea, that was for sure. Whether that meant calling Ratchet to inform him and getting some ways of going forward from him or a way to figure this out on their own he'd have to wait and see. But Magnus never acted on impulse or in a sudden rush of movement. He thought things out before doing anything.

The hatch-ramp lowered down to let the semi in. Magnus skidded to a stop and instantly began working away on the ship's dashboard. A holographic display came to life and his helm snapped between it and the dash. What he was looking for or doing Bulkhead couldn't even begin to guess. But he felt he needed to point something out. Maybe he'd seen it wrong or seen something that hadn't even been there to start with, but it was worth a shot.

"Sir, the dog – it looked scared. And it attacked the other Pred."

Ultra Magnus didn't even glance behind him as he answered: "Razorplume's words revealed that Predacons are as restricted to Energon as we are, but that does not by any means indicate the hound was trying to protect her. It could have viewed her as valuable collateral should we give them trouble. Or, as Starscream did, use her to prove their loyalty to Megatron. Or more simply it could have been defending its territory and taken the girl as a trespasser. Many of the creatures in Celtic lore are viewed as dangerous and untrustworthy."

"But sir...I think it was scared of us." Bulkhead repeated. " _Really_ scared."

"Again, that reaction might have been instinctive owing to its small size." answered the other mech crisply. "And if the beast is still loyal to the Decepticon cause it will label us as the enemy, and many Decepticons, no matter their frame models, have been shown consistently to be cowards of the lowest order. It might have run because it was outnumbered."

Wheeljack grunted: "Hardshell sure wasn't a coward, and I got the scars to prove it. Neither was the Gwyllgi. That dragon wasn't a coward. And Megatron sure as the Pit isn't a coward. Your data's faulty."

Magnus flashed him a sideways glare.

"I was speaking generally, not specifically. And I'd watch your tone, soldier."

A tense silence fell. Wheeljack's frown deepened. Primus, this mech drove him up the wall. But...

"...What the slag are you even doing?" he wondered impatiently.

"If the beast can teleport that would mean it is employing the use of tachyons to transport itself great distances. It is a well established fact that tachyons leave distinct energy traces behind them – if you know in what wavelength to look for them. My ship had the necessary instruments. That trail will show us where the beast has been in the past hour, and since every beast bar the Gwyllgi has a home base it returns to, _that_ will likely be one of the hot spots I am searching for. Should we find the beast, we most likely will find Miko."

Wheeljack's crossed arms fell to side. He blinked once. That...sounded more like something Ratchet would think to do. The old mech wasn't exactly a scientist by nature. He would've thought to just fan out because teleporting more than a few hundred klicks was dangerous, and this _was_ an island.

"And if we _don't_ find her with Fido?" he asked. A sideways glance showed that maybe he should have asked that privately. Bulk really had gone soft under Optimus's command. But he didn't fault the former Prime for that, not anymore. That had just been who he was. Couldn't exactly turn a soft-spoken librarian into a battle-hardened general overnight. Softening up a little on a planet of beings who could get squashed if you weren't careful wasn't a bad thing. Hindrance? Maybe. But not a true handicap. Humans _could_ be pretty helpful. One had saved his aft.

The taller mech didn't answer right away. His focus was on the holographic display. The seconds ticked by in silence. On the display, multiple tachyon hot spots simmered to life in roughly a minute or so – and there were a handful of them in total. A press of a holo-key and a geographic map of the island with associated mounds, standing stones, and stone circles, overlapped the hot spots. One was over a body of water near the edge of the Scottish mainland they were presently on, known by the locals as Loch Monar. Another was just over the next knoll, where the abduction had taken place. Those two were connected. Was that were the beast had deposited the attacking equine? And the other connected hot spot...

"There." He pointed.

"What is that?" demanded Bulkhead. "Sir." he added.

"Barpa Langass, an old stone burial mound on the Isle of North Uist."

"She's on another _island?_ " The dismay in his voice was hard to miss.

But Ultra Magnus did not respond. His expression had hardened. A flick of a switch replaced the tachyon scan with the satellite scan of the Energon deposit in the Hebrides Bluffs to their immediate east, on the Isle of Skye. If the female was on North Uist...that wasn't much of a jump to the Isle of Skye, and it _was_ on the way...Bulkhead's words had got him ruminating, as well. The beast may have run on spotting the enemy and taken the girl as a hostage, yes. Or it might have taken her for another reason entirely. He'd rather avoid a misunderstanding on par with the one he'd had with Grimwing. Perhaps the beast hadn't meant any harm. It _had_ attacked another of its kind, after all, one that had attacked first. And the way it had plucked the female off the ground – it had been careful, like it hadn't wanted to hurt her. The timing of the other beast's arrival made him pause and reflect as well. If it hadn't cared about the native, then why jump in at all? It had to have been nearby and observing them to have known about the attack in the first place.

' _The beast's description in myth might hold some clues about its behavior_.' he thought.

The scanner feed was replaced with a file detailing Scottish folklore and the creatures involved in the stories. In a blur each story and description was skimmed through. Then it stopped on a certain image and a certain story. An image displayed a large, mottled green, wolf-like canine with a braided tail. Piercing yellow eyes shone like lamps.

Bulkhead's own curiosity got the better of him. He stepped forward.

"That's it! That's what got her!" he exclaimed.

"A Cù Sìth." Magnus muttered. "Odd. The creatures aren't generally viewed as friendly by the locals. There are no attacks associated with them, however. Merely abductions and 'warning bays that cause such fear the listener dies of fright soon after the third bay.' Hm. Apparently they were also viewed as soul stealers. It was thought to live in nooks and clefs of the highlands. That seems to be confirmed. It was in the area."

"And the horse?" Wheeljack pressed.

Ultra Magnus tossed him another warning glare but continued nonetheless: "That is less clear. We could either be dealing with a kelpie or an _each-uisge._ Both were equines, though the latter was viewed as the more dangerous of the two. The chemicals it was excreting from its mesh might explain why reports of natives being attacked label them as having been consumed by both creatures. Acid is detrimental enough on our species in high concentrations, but if a human were to be in contact with it..." He shook his helm grimly, trying not to picture the grisly result. "Little would be left of them."

"Then let's find Miko before it attacks again!" Bulkhead said. "Preds track. We know they can. It could follow the dog back to its hiding place _easy_."

"Agreed. But we have to secure the Energon in the Hebrides that Ratchet located for us as well. If we can deprive Shockwave of the resources he needs to clone, our opposition will be less severe."

" _What?_ " the green Wrecker roared in dismay. "What about Miko?! We're just gonna leave her?!"

The taller mech turned to look at him.

"You yourself said the beast was afraid, and need I remind you it did not attempt to harm her. I suspect the beast _was_ afraid of us and will conceal itself until we leave the general vicinity of its island. Owing to its behavior around her I suspect she is not in as much danger as might be assumed on a whim. It could very well be trying to keep her safe from the equine. Abductions are not the same as murder, soldier. There are no reports of a Cù Sìth attacking and killing a human directly. We are active targets here. She might be safer with the beast than with us. It can teleport out of danger whenever it wants to. If it rescued her once, I believe it might do so again."

Bulkhead didn't like it. They were going off assumptions, not facts. But he couldn't get across the water to get Miko without the use of the ship, and groundbridges were a no-go. Or...wait a klik...

"Gimme a klik, sir." he said. "I'll...comm the doc and tell him what's happened. Your ship's got an encrypted line. Won't be long."

The look of suspicion Ultra Magnus gave him nearly made him wither. He suspected. But he couldn't leave Miko on her own so far from home. He just couldn't. June and Fowler would barbecue him alive, then melt him down for spare parts. That wasn't even to mention Infernus would break down like an old rusted building after he possibly attempted to strangle Magnus over his comm. link. And if he told the doc, the kid'd find out by default. He'd keep this on the down low until they got it all sorted out. But for Magnus to believe him, he had to at least make to contact the base.

And he did. He hit the holo-key that controlled the ship's communication arrays and held it down. Magnus and Wheeljack made to leave as the signal worked through the base's encryption. A sideways glance after a moment showed Magnus was beyond the ramp now and getting farther, but Wheeljack was lagging behind. Once he was sure they were far enough away he slammed down on the control for the ramp.

"Sorry, guys." he muttered. "I'm not leaving her."

The ramp folded up.

* * *

Magnus was almost half a mile away from his ship when he recieved a notice of the hatch-ramp going up. He hit the brakes and whirled around to see it finish folding. Briefly he caught a glimpse of dour determination from the former construction worker inside. He felt his spark plummet in his chest.

He'd suspected. He had. He just hadn't thought the mech would go through with it. He hadn't stopped to consider just how powerful the bond was between him and the female native. He'd gotten a hint of it in his anger at his plan of campaign – and had horribly miscalculated just how deep that anger went.

The ship's thrusters oriented downwards and it lifted away from the grassy green hills beneath it. It spun to face towards the east.

"BULKHEAD!" Magnus bellowed as he raced towards his vessel. "BULKHEAD! STOP!"

There was no hesitation. The ship's thrusters rumbled like thunder, and with a loud cannon-like bang the Iron Will shot off towards the horizon.

Wheeljack pulled up to him and transformed. He was irked beyond measure to see him smirking. Smirking! He could almost feel his spark erupt in fire when Wheeljack nodded and said:

"Nicely played, Bulk. _Nicely_ played."

Ultra Magnus furiously loomed over him, engine rumbling in a threateningly low frequency as a disapproving frown contorted his faceplates. The white Wrecker's smirk didn't falter.

"What?" he wondered innocently. "Even _you_ gotta admit that was a nice trick. That he pulled it off on _you_ just makes it hilarious. I am literally restraining myself from laughing in your faceplates right now."

The blue and burgundy mech growled at him "You knew...and went along with his plan..." and stomped off like an angry mountain. His field was lit up like a supernova, nearly making Wheeljack laugh out loud. Not a lot of things got under Magnus's mesh, but being tricked by one of his own soldiers and having his ship stolen all in one fell swoop was obviously a surefire way to grind his gears.

' _Hmmm...have to consider that..._ ' Wheeljack thought a bit cheekily, blue optics narrowing.

Shrugging nonchalantly the white Wrecker drove after him. Might as well take this whole situation in stride. Bulk could handle himself. So could the kid.

* * *

"Ramhorn!"

Catscratch issued the exclamation just as she transformed and flung herself in front of the goat-mech. A yowling sound escaped her fanged maw and her back arched threateningly. A deep hiss sounding more like it belonged to a tiger was emitted then, followed by a low growl. Behind her, Miko had her back against the stone wall and was tenser than she'd ever felt. She'd never trusted goats. Every petting zoo she'd visited the things had tried to eat her shoes. One this size could ram her against the wall and break every bone in her body.

The goat-mech stopped mid-step. He blinked.

"What? I weren't going te hurt 'er." he argued simply. "I was going te ask 'er if she knew where the Autobots were headed so we can avoid them. If they're as mad as she suggests about this mess Tag-Along caused, they'll shoot first. I waen't lose another, not te them."

Catscratch issued another growling hiss but stepped aside. Miko was thankful she lingered nearby.

"Girls always look out for each other, huh?" she whispered.

A purr and a sharp glance at Ramhorn was her answer. Goat-mech seemed to get the message and kept a distance. Tag-Along watched from across the chamber, every so often licking at his corroded paws. The wide yellow optics were like someone watching a reality show on the TV. She nearly giggled. In a way she guessed this was entertainment for him, having no access to the web, a radio, or a TV. In a place like this she had to guess not much excitement came their way other than the occasional spat with that horse and his buddies.

"So." Ramhorn prompted. "Ye said ye were allies with them. Do ye know why they're 'ere? Where they're 'eaded?"

"How do I know you won't spit this info back to King 'Con and his pet whacko?" Miko shot back. "You said you're loyal. You defend your friends. I defend mine."

Ramhorn was dangerously silent for a while. Then: "Fair enough, lass. I swear on the sacrifice of Onyx Prime this waen't go further than this mound. So long as ye help us explain the situation to yer friends. We daennot want trouble. We've 'ad our fair share of it. Deal?"

He held out a hand. Miko nodded and shook it. Probably as good a bargain as she could get right now.

"You gotta tell me the story behind that horse and his pals, though. They'll go after my friends. I don't want them hurt. Okay?"

Ramhorn nodded. "Deal."

The hands were untangled and so she began to explain, keeping things as vague as she could. Decepticons were liars, and if Shockwave wanted info from them he could just pluck it out with that freaky patch thing of his. But he couldn't use it on her to get the full story. If she left some blanks...he'd lose time trying to figure out what those blanks were. And hey, maybe in the process she could help protect them. They weren't that bad, really. Bulk always said that King 'Con never went easy on traitors.

And she believed him.

* * *

The water of Loch Rannoch simmered and steamed as Floodshed stomped out of its depths, fuming. He bucked and shook himself, sending out a deadly sprinkling of once harmless freshwater now laced with hydroflouric acid. A few drops hit some of the nearby trees and their bark steamed and melted away. The grass beneath him withered. A violent snort escaped. A hoof stamped and scraped against the ground. He let out a frightening bellow and shook himself again.

Blast that Tag-Along. Every time he tried to keep those pesky meatbags away from the Energon deposit he and his fellow 'Cons guarded the little bugger would show up and warp him halfway across this sinking island into some body of water. He was really getting sick of it – took forever to get the smell out of his mesh and out of his nostrils.

Letting out a hellish whinny, he took off into the forest rimming the loch. A trio of hikers ahead of him screamed as he thundered over them, acid falling like light rain. They screamed more as it burned through their clothing and onto their skin. The sound alone made him feel a little better. To these pathetic little sacks of meat he was nothing short of a god of death.

"Kelpie!" one cried.

"It's real!" wailed another.

"Call for help! Someone!" shrieked the third.

A cell phone was whipped out. The emergency number was dialed amidst more screams.

He didn't bother to turn. The acid would take care of the witnesses. By the time help arrived they'd be dead. It had been centuries since he'd had the satisfaction of ending a native life thanks to the Seelies stopping him and Scorchmark's gang, or killing a Seelie for that matter. He'd forgotten how pleasing it was to bring death, and to see the panic that death caused. Everything he touched died.

When he hit the treeline his form flickered and left only a slight disturbance in the air, like a heat mirage over a blistering road. The grass continued to wither.

* * *

 _Location: Decepticon Warship Nemesis  
_ _Exact Geographic Coordinates:_ _63.266827, -13.199664_

* _Like this?_ *

Ravage positively beamed. This kid was a fantastic learner. Granted he was still speaking in his native Draconian dialect (learning Kaonian and then English took more than just a few solar cycles) but at least he was able to use short-band radio now. Remarkable progress for someone who hadn't been out of his hyper-evolution chamber for more than a deca-cycle or two at most. He had a good processor on him.

* _Exactly. Very well done. Now, the frequency of short-band will change slightly to keep anyone from eavesdropping on the battlefield, but Soundwave generally does that fine-tuning for the troops automatically. You shouldn't need to worry about that. I think our next lesson should be_ –*

Their conversation was brought to a halt when Ravage detected the sounds of pedefalls headed their way. Seven from the sounds of them, quite light in comparison to Lord Megatron's or the Builder's. He recognized those easily: the pedefalls of Starscream's little armada. He rose to his paws as the doors to the hangar bay hissed and slide open to permit the grey flier and his re-painted squadron. After what the Seeker had done to the kid it took a surge of willpower not to growl and attack him outright. Just because they had beast frames did not make them mindless attack animals. The Builder at least understood they bore intelligence. Despite his effort a growl still worked through. His four red optics narrowed. He was pleased to see two of the armada fliers falter.

"Please." Starscream scoffed haughtily. "There's no need for that, Ravage. Lord Megatron has ordered me to collect you and the Draconian for a mission. You _can_ understand basic Vosian, I assume?"

Ravage growled again. The mech was completely insufferable. Arrogant. No wonder the kid loathed him to a fault.

* _I'd watch your tone, Seeker. This room is watched, true, but I will warn you that my kind used to feed on scrawny nothings like you. Wonderful little snacks. I'm sure the Builder would understand...After all, you ever wonder what happened to Autobots who were captured near his old cloning labs? The bodies weren't smelted down, I'll say that._ *

Starscream faltered visibly. His red gaze quickly darted up to one of the surveillance cameras silently observing from a shadowed corner. He wasn't exactly reassured to know Soundwave was watching. He and Shockwave were buddy-buddy with each other, and Lord Megatron had a rather twisted sense of humor. What Ravage was implying was gruesome to say the least. _Had_ Shockwave actually _fed_ Autobots to his beasts? Was Ravage just concocting a lie to form the basis of a threat? It sure didn't sound like he was fabricating anything. The hound's tone had an uncomfortable ring of truth in it. Honestly, he wouldn't put that sort of thing past the one-eyed creep.

"Yes, yes. Impressive threat." he said dismissively. "Regardless, you are to follow me for this mission. Both of you."

A groundbridge swirled open between the two parties. Suggestively putting a hand on the metal rod on his side, Starscream strode into the portal. Screeching, the Draconian slunk around and followed behind. Ravage brought up the rear, all four red optics keenly watching the Seeker's movements. He'd make sure that rod wasn't used again. If he so much as _looked_ at it the wrong way that whole, skinny arm of his was going to disappear into his maw, missile and all. They were both loyal Decepticons and deserved respect.

* * *

 _Location:_ _Area Fifty-One  
Exact Geographic Coordinates: Unavailable_

Raf took turns surfing the web and watching Bluestreak's medical readings. At the young gunner's side, Infernus's expression displayed all the guilt he felt like an open book, helm downcast. Occasionally he would glance over at Arcee with that expression of his, but whenever she turned to look at him his helm would jerk away. On the table nearby sat the ginormous jaw 'Bee had managed to snag in El Paso. An idea came to him.

"Hey, Infernus?" he asked.

The Prime's helm jerked up. "Hm?"

"You got some info off that skull you found in the mountains when you touched it, right? And the Hydra skull when you were near it?"

He blinked. "...Um, yeah. I guess. Why?"

Ratchet was now watching both of them intently. He abandoned the sub-mesh chip. Bless that boy. He always knew what to do.

"Maybe you could get some off this one?"

"I dunno. I mean, I don't even know what triggered that the last time. And I was right next to it a few times and got nada."

* _True. He didn't act funny or lock up when he rescued me._ * trilled 'Bee. * _Or when 'Cee brought it out of the little storage building thingy in the first place._ *

Arcee winced. She was not looking forward to having to explain breaking-and-entering and property damage to Fowler. Thanks Primus the man was busy elsewhere at the moment. But she knew he'd be back. She was half tempted to ask Infernus if he could pull a favor with Vector Prime and have him speed up time so she could get the whole thing over with.

"Perhaps because you weren't actively trying." Ratchet hazarded. "Correct me if I'm wrong but the last time those visions came you were either desiring more information or else actively hunting for the remains. With your mind on other subjects and emotion clouding it perhaps any visions associated with this beast were blocked to prevent cognitive overload or some other detrimental reaction."

Infernus's expression went from guilty to puzzled. He looked over at the jaw with its few missing dental plates.

"I guess I can give it another shot. Not like I have anything to lose."

He stepped away from the medical berth and approached the jaw. Raf didn't spot any kind of reaction when he loomed over it other than a metal eyebrow raising like he was confused. His hand went up and hovered over the jaw for a while as if he as scared it might come to life and chomp it right off. His whole body tensed. The hand lowered down onto the rusted metal. Two burning blue optics shuttered. A minute passed. Two minutes. His optics un-shuttered, confusion swimming in them. Some of his tension slipped away. His mouth tightened into a slight diagonal line across his faceplates.

"Uh..." he started slowly. "I'm not getting anyth–"

He stopped abruptly. His whole body tensed all over again. His optics seemed to go blank, but now they were glowing. Just like they'd done the last time he'd touched a fossil and this had happened. It was like he'd suddenly gone into stasis lock or something.

"Just like with the mountain skull..." Raf heard Ratchet mutter. "Fascinating...Some connection with the Matrix, I wonder...?"

"Or something else." Grimwing suggested cryptically.

The Thunderbird drew up to the oblivious Prime and circled him a few times. He felt a peculiar kind of tingle in the air around him, one the others didn't seem able to detect. He'd felt that same tingle in the crater as Anaba had tended to him, his spark held in the hands of the Old One. It was not an unpleasant tingle by any means, but it brought old memories to the surface. He remembered a warm light, song, and laughter. He remembered...he remembered being ripped away from it with no warning. He remembered a wailing cry of pain and horror that shook the realm of light and turned its warmth cold. The next thing he remembered was waking in a strange tube filled with viscous yellow-bronze liquid – his very first memory. But what of the memories before, those vague inklings of happiness and contentment just on the rim of his unconscious?

His optics widened. In a flash he grabbed the jaw out from under the Prime's hand, holding it as far as he could from him.

"Grim?! What are you doing?!" Jack cried.

Infernus jolted back to life with a sound of surprise, staggering. Grimwing steadied him.

"What'd you do that for?" demanded the Prime. "The vision wasn't done! I thought you wanted info as much as they did!"

"I would advise you refrain from doing that persistently, Prime." said the Thunderbird grimly. "You are not connecting to the Matrix to gather this information."

The white Draconian blinked once. "What? What do you mean? I thought that was how this worked!"

"You are not connecting to the Matrix." repeated Grimwing. "You are connecting with the Allspark through the Old One himself. That is dangerous."

All eyes and optics riveted on the Thunderbird in shocked surprise.

"Wha...? How do you know that?" Infernus wondered.

"I felt it. There was an energy in the air around you that seemed to affect my nervous system. I felt that same energy and physical reaction the day I nearly died. It is...hard to forget. Returning from near death is not something readily forgotten, Prime. You in particular should be well aware of that. Primes have always held a unique connection with death."

Infernus shuddered a little in remembrance. Yeah. He knew. Probably as well as Grimwing did.

"I worry the more you connect the deeper your harmonization will become. Pleasant as that may sound at first, that is unspeakably dangerous. If you fully harmonize...I fear you will have no choice but to enter the same way Onyx did in the beginning. Seeing as the core is dark, the Well dry, and we have no ready means of reaching Cybertron..."

That eerily mirrored the warning the mist-mech had given him during his strange encounter with it in the mist-woven darkness. He shivered internally at the uncanny similarity. Why hadn't the Thirteen warned him about this, though?

' _This has never been witnessed before._ ' Prima answered simply. ' _At least not to the extent that you display. Flash-visions and out-of-frame experiences are not uncommon for a Prime, but directly peering into the memories of the dead and, through them, into the past...we thought only Onyx could perform such a feat. Onyx was the reason you could perform the link the first time. This and the incident at Lerna proves you can do so on your own._ '

' _Perhaps his fire granted him an inkling of the same ability...?_ ' pondered Solus. ' _Some kind of power t_ _ransference from the Mask that none of us expected?_ '

There was a murmur of agreement. Great. So he was apparently a psychic now. Peachy. He cast a humorous mental frown at Onyx, earning a snort. He got the weirdest feeling the great silver-winged dragon may have actually done it purpose.

"Thanks. For the warning, I mean. I-I didn't know." He dropped pronouns in order to thank both parties in one go. Nobody seemed to think twice about it.

"Nor did we." Ratchet admitted. "Optimus never said anything even resembling what you have, Grimwing. Curious that you sensed that energy. I couldn't pick up anything."

Grimwing managed a wry smile. "You can thank me best by refraining from performing the _beʼjitłʼó_ frequently. And you, healer, by ensuring he does not."

Infernus returned the smile. "Deal. Won't say I'm not gonna do it at all, but I'll try not to do it on a day-to-day basis or anything."

He went over to stand at Bluestreak's side once more. He thought about the sights he and he alone had seen. It certainly hadn't been what he'd been expecting.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I'll clarify the vision a little later...;)**

* _Ho-kay._ _Clarification for Kaleia and Julien Craig: Okay, let me try to explain here since you two are a little lost:_

 _I'll clarify who/what the "Old One" is later_ – _or rather Grimwing will. Now, what happens with the whole "linking up/vision" thing is this: whenever Infernus touched that fossil the first time, Onyx helped him out by acting as a sort of safety net for him and also sort of doing it for him. He's already merged with the Allspark according to lore and acts kind of like a dragon watch-dog/Cerberus of the place, acts as a guide for returning sparks, and helps the Well create new Cybertronians, the Well being what's left of Solus Prime after she was murdered. Onyx was also described as the most "spiritually attuned" of the Thirteen, that power being amplified owing to his artifact, the Triptych Mask. Because Onyx was the one to change him, some of that power rubbed off on Infernus, giving him a ghost of the same ability (no pun intended)._

 _As for the linking itself..._

 _Harmonization, as Grimwing said, sounds like a good thing_ – _but it's actually dangerous. Lore says a spark merges with the Allspark a Cybertronian goes offline, meaning its energy syncs to it. "One with the Allspark" is frequently used in the series. I think you get where I'm going with this, hopefully. If he harmonizes fully while still online...that's basically the same as being dead. That's a paradox akin to Schrodinger's Cat. Think to Predacons Rising with Optimus. In my mind, there's actually a reason why they can't stick around once that happens, but I'll let the resident doctor elaborate on that later on._

 _Make sense? Yes? No? Maybe? o.o I'll talk a bit more about this in the series, don't worry. This is just like an overview._


	28. Chapter 28: Friendly Faeries?

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 28

* _Note to Kaleia: Ramhorn's bipedal form isn't supposed to invoke Satan, silly. xD He's modeled more after the Greek satyr or faun. He's based of the Scottish bauchan, a kind of fairy who, in a certain folktale by John Francis Campbell, could take the form of a goat to disguise itself. They were mischievous and sometimes seen as dangerous, but also could be helpful when the need arose. :) The guy the story centers around had a bauchan haunt him/help him in a funny "frenemy" kind of way._

* * *

Ramhorn, Catscratch, and Tag-Along listened without interruption to her. They seemed stunned at the news that the three Wreckers here wouldn't hurt them unless they really did something to miff them off. Right now they were probably just panicking, she assured – but that didn't mean they'd shoot right away. They'd want an explanation for sure. All three of them had had some kind of "encounter" with a Predacon, after all. One had even joined their team. Big bird guy with lightning powers; went by Grimwing. There were some big flying snake guys in Mexico, too, but they hadn't sided with them. Stuck to themselves. Abandoned the 'Cons altogether. One of them had gone feral or something.

"There are others?" Catscratch wondered in half-hidden relief. "Others that survived the Dragon Hunts?"

Miko blinked. "Dragon Hunts?" That sounded equal parts cool and really, really bad. That was something Infernus needed to know about. That sounded super important with an awesome name like that.

Ramhorn explained briefly:

"Fer a time some of our kind co-existed with yer race. Some of us even formed tribal alliances and assisted them in their daily lives, teaching them. But that didn't include every beast, as ye saw with Floodshed on the bluffs. Some, like Scorchmark's gang, which Floodshed's a part of, interpreted their orders more literally. Anyone, anything that weren't Predacon 'ad to be eliminated, no matter if they meant any 'arm. So 'umans like ye started te drop dead, even other Predacons like us." He shook his head with a frown before going on: "Tensions started risin'. Moderns began te trickle in after a time, trying te escape the War. That only made it werse. Some Predacons, like us, did nae see them as threats and left 'em well alone. But others...weren't so liberal. When they started popping off and...disappearing like the 'umans, that tension 'it a boiling point. They and the 'umans went after anything even resembling a beast. Friend or foe, did nae matter. If it were beast, it died."

The girl's eyes widened a little. Something form her American History class bubbled up to the surface.

"A witch hunt." she said quietly. "Oh my God. _That's_ why Tag-Along ran. He wasn't just scared of them because he was tinier. He really thought they'd kill him."

Catscratch nodded: "Aye. Every non-beast we've met 'as tried te stiff us, including ye 'umans. An' all the while we tried to keep ye little buggers safe from the others. So much fer gratitude." She snorted.

Still lying in his spot, Tag-Along whimpered and whined, metals ears laying flat. The fear she'd seen earlier reappeared. Man. These guys must've had it real rough during these Hunts. They were so _little_ , too – they were the smallest 'bots she'd ever seen. Floodshed hadn't been much bigger than a real life workhorse, like the ones she'd seen on those Budweiser commercials, and Catscratch and Tag-Along were actually a teeny bit smaller than him. She had to guess Ramhorn's beast mode was tiny, too. Honestly, he wasn't that much taller than a really tall basketball player. She could pretty well get behind why Tag-Along had run – all someone Bulk's size needed to do was basically _step_ on him.

"I'm from Tokyo, little _neko_." Miko argued smugly. "You got nothing on me. Used to live in Jasper before King 'Con decided to flatten it."

"Everyone got out alright, aye?" asked Catscratch. "The Grey King's got a bad 'abit of doing that, so I've 'eard. Did a little nosin' into the Builder's files in my younger cycles afore I was deployed 'ere. Never once got caught."

Miko had to hide a cheeky smile. Grimwing might learn a few things about stealth from this cat.

"Yeah. Evacuated. They're all okay. Wish I could say the same for the town. Looks like a place out of a _Fallout_ game now."

"Good te hear. 'Bout the people, I mean. Naet the town."

"Still doesn't make it okay." Miko shot back.

Catscratch put her hands up.

"Nae sayin' it were. Just glad te 'ear nae one in yer little place got 'urt. Praxus an' Iacon weren't so lucky once the Grey King turned 'is sights on 'em. One had its people slaughtered like 'aywire scraplets. The other were leveled by some great machine from the sky with a gaze of starfire. Trypticon so they called it. We called it a lord. Some even worshiped it as such, fergetting their true patron below. I weren't one of those louts."

For once in her life Miko sorely wished for a notebook or tablet. There was so much to jot down, and her brain could only hold so much. This was way more interesting than History or Biology. So long ago in a ruin in Greece she'd wanted to write a paper about Cybertronian interaction and involvement in human history. Well, she had some sources now. And her little idea had been right, it seemed. Cybertronians _had_ been involved in history – in a pretty major way. Those Dragon Hunts might just explain why there weren't a lot of giant metal beasts walking around on the planet anymore, terrorizing the human population: they'd all been killed. Well, most of them anyway. Even some of the ones who had been okay.

She shivered a little. An alien witch hunt...with Predacons as the targets. No wonder some of them were so mistrusting of Autobots. Tag-Along running didn't seem so out of character now. These little guys had had such bad experiences with vehicle 'bots like Bulk that they just assumed _any_ vehicle-former was a killer.

"So what's the deal with the horse?" she pressed. "You said he's part of some guy's gang or pack or whatever? Scorchmark, right?"

A story proceeded. She did her best to mentally jot down notes:

Scorchmark had apparently been sent as a kind of watch dog or overseer to keep the littler beasts in check, and his sister (could 'bots have siblings?) Sizzleslash had been sent with him. The first had been the overseer of the beasts like Floodshed, the loyal ones with the violent streak: three heads, all dragon, and a whole helping of temper. They presided over a massive Energon deposit in the north of Ireland, but not in North Ireland ("make sense?" he asked. Miko told him she'd never been very good at geography...) – _not_ the place Magnus had said the deposit they were here for was located. Sizzleslash on the other hand had been the overseer of Ramhorn and his little pack. She, Ramhorn, Catscratch, Tag-Along, and a half dozen others guarded a large deposit in the Hebrides Bluffs here in Scotland, though technically both were under the guard of both packs. Was that where Magnus had landed the ship? Might be. Sizzleslash, said Ramhorn, hadn't been as bad as her brother but still not a beast you wanted to tick off from the sounds of her. Venomous bite, apparently, along with the standard dragon power of fire-breathing. Ramhorn and his friends had managed to trick her into making them believe they were loyal by abducting humans who drew too near the deposit they guarded, but they never actually killed them. The trick was a neat one, really – after the abduction, Catscratch and Tag-Along would lurk around local funerals to convince Sizzleslash they were the culprits. The humans quickly saw them as "evil spirits" that needed to be warded off or else avoided entirely, thus keeping them from coming to any further harm.

Catscratch issued a laugh then.

"Oh, I miss the _Feill Fadalach_! So many games te play! People te spook! Pranks te play!"

Tag-Along barked, tail a-way. The fear was gone now. He looked a lot happier. Miko had no idea what the heck Catscratch was even talking about, but if it made the two happy it couldn't be all bad. She'd said there were games involved. Games were fun, and just from her tone it didn't sound the like games were evil. Knockout's tone when talking about games had been a _lot_ darker.

Ramhorn continued with a snort to request silence:

Once Sizzleslash had been convinced they weren't in need of supervision, she'd rejoined her brother to guard the larger hoard in the north of Ireland. The friendly little beasts, who the humans had taken to calling the Seelies, had slowly moved away from the two mainlands and taken up on the other islands. Once the moderns (she assumed this was their term for 'bots) had started to show up on the planet, a few came to the Scottish and Irish isles. Scorchmark and Sizzleslash had reacted violently to this seeming invasion by the enemy, and it was because of that the Dragon Hunts here had been sparked. Together with their pack, the vicious Unseelies, they had ruthlessly attacked anything that was not explicitly part of their little group, and that unfortunately included the Seelies. Some, like Moonhowler and Stand-Alone, had actually showed open kindness towards humans and moderns alike, earning the ire of the Unseelies. Miko noticed a change in Ramhorn's tone there; it became darker.

"That kindness made them targets. War sparked between the two packs, the 'umans caught in the middle and the moderns forced te either flee or fight." His tone had grown even darker.

"What happened to them?" she asked quietly, some part of her not wanting to know.

"Some made it away." Catscratch admitted. "Others...we never saw them again. We know fer sure that Stand-Alone didn't make it. We found 'is body near Scorchmark's cave, battered and burnt te a crisp, acid 'aving eaten away at 'is frame. That was 'round the time Scorchmark 'imself was offed by a group of moderns, one of whom had been melted to slag by Scorchmark and 'is sister. Took it and 'id it afore the Unseelies could grab it fer storage. Gentle spark. Timid. Wasn't un'eard of 'im te find a lone kiddie out in the wilderness and bring 'em 'ome safely te their mum and da. Made friends with 'em, played with 'em. Even guided a modern or two to a small deposit we guarded 'neath one of the lochs. We shared with 'em. Poor louts hadn't brought much with 'em. Just needed enough to fuel their ship so they could search fer more. Do nae know where they went."

Miko took note of that. Weird how they still identified with the 'Cons yet seemed so nice. But when you were a 'Con, niceness usually got you a one-way trip to the scrapheap. If they could trick Sizzleslash, they might've played the same act with other 'Cons.

"...How many died?"

Ramhorn said simply: "Too many. We two packs – we're all that's left of the Predacons stationed 'ere. Some were killed by the moderns. Some were killed by fellow Predacons, like Stand-Alone."

She asked the major question of the day: "Where's Scorchmark buried?"

Ramhorn noticeably bristled at her question, but she glared right back. Catscratch had hinted to start with that Scorchmark was not a Predacon Shockwave should be getting his hands on again, and hearing that he'd burned half of Ireland before he'd been killed was a good enough reason for him to stay dead. That sort of reaction kind of reminded her of Bulk's story about Divebomb – except for the scary fact that Scorchmark had just been pissed as all get out, not feral. Talk about a temper.

"Hey, we're not gonna do anything with the body other than melt it down to keep it away from Shockwave." she defended. "You guys are as scared of him as we'd be if we had to fight him. We already got one dragon to deal with, and probably a freaky shadow dog thing."

Still the goat-mech bristled. He did give an answer though: "Scorchmark's body is buried at Knocknarea in Ireland. Disturb it at yer own risk. The 'umans there know well enough nae te scan or excavate the mound, even if they nae longer remember why."

"Can't blame 'em. Guy sounded like a total jerk."

The cat femme's face contorted into a disgusted frown. "Aye, that 'e were. Far as we know, Sizzleslash still functions, but she –"

Her sentence came to an abrupt stop when Tag-Along let out a panicked sounding yip and jerked his head towards the mound's entrance. His metal ears were pricked straight up, Miko noticed. Ramhorn, motioning for Catscratch to stay back, transformed – revealing his beast form was that of a large ram (duh) – and cautiously clopped towards the entrance. Catscratch herself swapped modes and her ears copied what Tag-Along's were doing, only hers were actually rotating around a little, like a real cat's. Miko noticed Ramhorn's gaze was focused on the sky, not the ground. Uh-oh. That couldn't mean anything good.

"What? What is it?" she demanded.

Tag-Along growled softly as Catscratch and Ramhorn cast her withering looks that very plainly said "Zip it!"

"Right. You guys can't talk in animal mode." she realized.

The looks became more withering but also more urgent. "Quiet!" they seemed to say. She shut her mouth. Dead silence came over the mound.

Huffing (and not willing to stay put) she jogged forward and ducked under Ramhorn's legs and belly to peep out into the open air. She didn't see or hear anything right away, so she had to assume they had really good hearing by default. But after a moment she picked up a sound incoming fast from...ugh. Figuring out which way was north hadn't been something she'd bothered to learn. Maybe she should start carrying a compass with her just in case; Mark could probably lend her one. But the sound, faint at first, was getting louder every second – and it was a sound she recognized. She'd heard it first during the dragon attack in the mountains and valleys of the southwestern U.S, and more recently during her little stowaway trick.

"Magnus's ship!" she exclaimed happily. "They found me!"

As if in answer, out of the clouds roared the Iron Will.

She darted out into the open air. "GUYS! DOWN HERE! I'M RIGHT HERE!" She jumped and waved her arms frantically.

Her hollering turned into a startled, annoyed yelp when Ramhorn plucked her up by the scruff of her shirt and ducked back inside the mound. She saw the ship lower down on the hills beyond, hatch-ramp thingy facing towards them. Down it came the hefty green form of Bulkhead – but no one else. She didn't care. A friendly face was what she wanted. She watched as he sped over to the mound, faster than she'd ever seen him drive. He screeched to a stop, blocking the entrance, and transformed to tower over it.

Help was finally here.

* * *

"You have five seconds to hand her over, Fido! I know you're in there! I got movement on my scanners and spark signals to boot! And don't even think about running!"

There was a tense silence followed by a strange ripping sound. His tight spark un-tightened when Miko darted out of the dark mound and rushed up to her protector's giant metal feet. Her arms flung around them. He knelt down and put one giant finger on her. She looked okay, and a brief scan didn't show any kind of bodily damage. Her shirt was torn though, and that hadn't been there the last time he'd seen her.

"Miko! Are you okay?" he demanded. "Your shirt's torn in back."

"I'm fine." she mumbled. She looked up at him and said: "But promise me you won't hurt them. They're not the bad guys, Bulk! It's that horse and his pals who are the real jerks here!"

Bulkhead looked up from Miko and into the dark recesses of the mound. Through the gloom he could see three glowing pairs of small optics, wide and watchful. He watched as two of the pairs retreated further back, while the third remained where it was and didn't look quite so terrified. He tensed. One hand morphed into a mace. That kind of gaze usually signaled a fight was about to break out. Its owner shifted just enough for light to scintillate off two giant pairs of...whoa. Were those goat horns?

Miko reacted like lightning. "No! They're not dangerous! They've been helping people for a long time! They're 'Cons but that doesn't make them evil! Tag-Along was just trying to keep me safe from Floodshed!"

He looked back down at her, puzzled. "Who?"

Miko let go of him and jogged back towards the mound.

"Come on, guys. You can come out." she murmured in a voice quieter than he'd heard her use. "He won't hurt you. He was just worried about me."

Slowly, hesitantly, the owner of the great curling horns stepped out, revealed as a burly male ram colored rich tawny, dark bronze, and pewter. Behind him followed a pitch black cat with bright green eyes and the mottled green dog who had kidnapped Miko to start with. He noticed the dog was limping heavily. Two sets of metal ears, one black and one green, folded back warily. He took in the sight in astonishment. All of them were easily smaller than the Gwyllgi, the green dog not much bigger than a young calf and the cat smaller than it. The ram, muscular as it was, wasn't much bigger than the dog.

"...Mini-cons...?" he breathed in wonder. "You're mini-cons! All of you! I-I thought I was just seeing things, but –"

"Don't hurt them." Miko repeated. "They can help us."

"How?"

Miko quickly glanced back at the ram for what seemed like permission and, when it nodded grimly at her, told him that they'd revealed the location of a dangerous Predacon on Ireland named Scorchmark, along with mentioning that it and a group of the little beasts had guarded an Energon stash there. She didn't know exactly where it was or if it had already been taken by the 'Cons or what, but the beasts that guarded it were _not_ friendly. They killed people for fun. Like Floodshed.

"You mean the horse?" he guessed. "How many of you little guys are there?"

The black cat transformed, showing itself to be a slender, cute little femme with a bright white splotch just beneath the head of her cat mode on her upper chest.

"With us? That'd be me, Taggy, Ramhorn, and Moon'owler. Far as we know the other group counts Sizzleslash, Floodshed, Vigordrainer, and Screech. Used to be more, but...well. Let's just say your kind 'ad a 'and in cutting our numbers in the past. Nae idea where they're all at right now, but Taggy dropped that blighter Floodshed inte one of the lochs te get 'im away from your little friend. Trust me when I say 'e'll be back. Blighter loves a good spat."

Bulkhead blinked. The accent wasn't what he was used to and a little difficult to understand, but to hear there were only a handful of the little beasts left in the general area who were currently online was strange to hear, and to hear they'd split from each other and seemed to be waging a war of their own was even stranger. Predacons were supposed to be loyal if they still counted themselves as 'Cons.

"They're not the bad guys, Bulk." Miko said, motioning to the three little beasts. "They helped me. And they can help us get a point up on the board against the 'Cons. If they know where one Pred is buried, I'm betting they can point out more if we ask 'em nicely."

"Alright."

He put the mace away and approached the mini-cons. The dog gave a weak growl while the ram snorted aggressively and dragged a front hoof through the turf. The message was clear: stay back. They didn't trust him. He knelt to make himself less intimidating – something he'd seen Optimus do a lot. Didn't seem to help much.

"Can you little guys lend us a hand? We're not going to hurt anyone. We're trying to help the humans."

The three tiny beasts shared glances. The cat shrugged, reminding the ram they owed the girl a favor, and so owed her ally a favor. The ram didn't seem very happy about the arrangement, but he didn't snort or oppose it in any way. He just tossed him a look that said he'd be watching for any funny business. Bulkhead nodded back. So that was how they'd play this, then. He rose.

"Come on into the ship. There's a holo-map in there we can use, and I can contact Magnus. I need to get Miko her phone back anyway."

Still noticeably wary, the beasts slunk after him.

* * *

Beyond the waters of Lough Derg in Ireland, an camouflaged equine raced over the grass and rocks towards a cave he hadn't visited in over three decades. With their reserve running dangerously low after the Hunts, their current alpha could not afford to play an active role in their little war they had going on – especially not after she'd been wounded by one of those Pit-slagged moderns. "Fin MacCoul" the humans had dubbed him, history and re-telling having warped him into a human form and their silly religion playing a role later on. He had led the Hunts in Ireland, and by the time he and his little band had finished there were only a handful of beasts left, forced into hiding like scraplets in the Wastes.

Snorting, he stopped by the cave entrance. No humans dared come here ever since any trespassers had been burned to ash by what resided deep within. None had lived to tell, and luckily the Irish had been a superstitious lot to begin with. Get a story started and it would eventually twist into a legend. "Fire-Spitter's Well" it was called. Oh, if only they knew...

Floodshed headed inside, shaking off the sense of being watched he always had when going underground. He knew well enough what it was but didn't care. Deeper he trotted, metal hooves echoing against the stone. Eventually he came to a deep crevice that dropped down into the dark, where a faint red glow only visible in microwave wavelengths was visible.

"Mm."

He turned sharply. Standing behind him with her back to the wall was a lean, ragged looking dirty grey and sickly green femme with two tiny, curling horns. Her posture itself was suggestive. On her chest was an elongated animal head, and a thin tail dropped to the ground behind her, the tip curling partways into a whirl on the ground. Two sickly yellow optics appraised him hungrily. One slender digit tapped against her chin. She smiled knowingly.

"Wonder what brings you here, Floodshed?" she questioned aloud. "Did Tag-Along hurt your feelings again?"

The equine snorted violently and went on his way. Vigordrainer had to be desperate if she was eyeing him up. If only they could get their hands on that deposit in the Hebrides...maybe she wouldn't need to subside on her fellow Predacons or hunt around for Seelies to drain.

The rat femme pouted saucily: "Aw. Don't feel like talking to little old me?"

He heard her start after him.

"Anything I can do to help turn that frown upside down?"

It was all he could do to ignore her tone. It didn't help when a digit ghosted along his back, but unlike Tag-Along's the digit merely simmered – it did not corrode. This wasn't the first time she'd accosted him like this, and these encounters always ended the same way. But he had a problem he needed to report. No time for pleasant distractions, much as he wouldn't mind a while alone with her. Other mechs couldn't claim to walk away alive from her lair. Only one had managed to walk away: Ramhorn. Others...she'd made quick work of them.

" _Later._ " he said. " _We have a problem. Autobots. Three of them. Arrived not even two hours ago._ "

Vigordrainer's optics opened a tad wider, her smile growing darker and hungry. To her that just meant there was more fresh Energon walking around on the island for her to grab.

" _Drain them if you must. But we need to find out why're here, and I need to report their presence. These...they didn't look like the Autobots we're used to. These were battle-hardened. Big. Strong. Their ship was well armed. We'll need Sizzleslash's firepower._ "

"Not necessarily..." said the horned rat.

She held up her arm. Blinking steadily just beneath her mesh was a violet light. Floodshed drew nearer to examine it. He'd seen this at the very start of their mission here on many of his allies, including himself. To see it again...it could only mean one thing. This could not have happened at a more opportune time. Even as he thought that, a similar light ignited in his upper shoulder

" _The Builder?_ "

"The Builder." she confirmed.

Together they peered down into the depths where their alpha slumbered. Floodshed shared a glance with the horned rat at his side, and she returned a single raised brow ridge. Sizzleslash wasn't in the best shape to fight, and woe be to the fool who angered her. Besides, if they lost her then power would be more evenly distributed among the Unseelies and the Seelies – and that would never do. The side who won was the side with the greatest strength. Right now, the power tables were tipped in their favor so long as Sizzleslash remained online. At any rate, if the Builder was here he would be able to repair her. Then those blasted Seelies would all die.

[Vigordrainer, report.] droned a voice in her mind.

[Floodshed, report.] droned a voice in his mind.

Sharing another glance, Vigordrainer transformed into her horned rat form and chased after Floodshed. That light would lead them straight to the Builder.

Once they were in the open they cast their gazes upwards on hearing a sound unlike any they had heard – a deep, chugging, mechanical _wubba-wubba_ far above them and far to the east, though from the sounds of it not drawing any nearer.

* * *

Ultra Magnus did his best to ignore Wheeljack for the duration of the drive to the location in the Hebrides Bluffs. That mech had always tried to undermine him and cause trouble, but this was taking it too far. Assisting in a ship-jacking by playing along? If he had the authority, he'd arrest him right now. He'd discuss this behavior with the Prime when he returned. Behavior like this was _not_ to be tolerated, and that went for both of them.

At his side, Wheeljack rolled along practically beaming with smugness. The semi's field tingled, seconds away from erupting outwards.

"Is it impossible for you to take _anything_ seriously?" he snarled.

Wheeljack snorted: "Uh, with _you_ as the boss? Yep."

' _He's incapable of realizing he may have jeopardized this entire mission._ ' he realized sourly. ' _Wonderful. I am working with a delinquent...again._ '

Growling, he drove ahead of him. They were nearing the deposit now, and judging by the landscape ahead there was a likely a drop off. A cliff was usually the best place to drill into the planet for a mine. No vertical digging was necessary at the start, saving the drillers a significant amount of trouble. Coincidentally that meant they had a height advantage and could take any miners or guards by surprise. Curiously enough, the scans his ship had taken had revealed that the Energon deposit here was of only moderate size. But Megatron would not be taking any chances, not with Shockwave needing more resources to clone beasts. Every captured mine was a valuable asset.

Transforming, he stalked forward with his blasters drawn, careful not to get too near the edge. Wheeljack stepped up to join him, but a glower and a motion of the hand made him move to the side and keep back. Good. At least he understood to be careful at this moment. He peered over the near vertical cliff edge. A dozen Vehicon and Eradicon troops stood watch. He glanced over at the white Wrecker, pointing down and silently asking " _Twelve?_ " That was a surprising amount of guards to station outside of a moderate mine like this one. Was there something else in there even more valuable? An artifact? A fossil perhaps?

Wheeljack nodded, smirking. He counted the same. Quietly he drew his katanas and got closer to the edge. Ultra Magnus cast him a warning glare – which Wheeljack happily ignored. To his horror (and before he could stop him) he began to scale down the cliff-side, but he was being surprisingly careful about his limb placement. Luckily for him the cliff was made of a sturdy stone that didn't crumble easily. Now if he would just keep up with that...

 _Krrrk._

Ultra Magnus frowned. So much for optimism – and the ambush.

His hand hit a weaker handhold and partially gave out under him. A series of pebbles and earth tumbled down. His optics quickly flicked up to meet Ultra Magnus, who now bore a murderous frown on his faceplates. His optics were somehow blank and angry at the same time. He needed to figure out how he did that.

" _You're dead to me._ " that look seemed to say.

All of that happened in the time it took the dust and pebbles to fall. One stone struck an Eradicon in the center of his helm.

By the time the guard look up to find the cause, Wheeljack was already on top of him. One swing of katana and the Eradicon collapsed, helm-less. The remaining eleven troopers wheeled on him in like a hive of hornets. Blaster fire lit up the air with streaks of red plasma. Katanas flashed in the dim, clouded sunlight. The plasma was harmlessly deflected with flowing, seamless swipes and motions of the bladed weapons, some striking the ones who had fired them. He rushed forward, hacking another in half and impaling another when it came too near. Psh. And Magnus had wanted to be cautious. Decepticon troopers were complete jokes when compared to their higher officers. Idiots could barely shoot straight.

The white Wrecker glanced up briefly on hearing a distinct crumbling from above. Three of the troops nearest the cliff face jerked their heads up to see Magnus scaling down the cliff face, hands and pedes slowing his descent by only a fraction. About two thirds of the way down he leapt off and, hands morphing into gun barrels, rained down blaster fire onto the enemy below. Three more troops fell thanks to his deadly aim. A fourth he floored by using it as a landing pad; it was quickly blasted in the chassis and went still.

A Vehicon panicked. "Lord Megatron! Commander Star –"

Magnus whirled. The Vehicon couldn't finish his cry for help. A blade was driven straight through it's helm. It stayed there for a moment before being wrenched out violently. The trooper fell. Wheeljack stood behind it. The final two made an attempt to flee. They didn't make it very far, Magnus's lethal aim once more rearing its head as each was nailed in the back of the helm.

"You worry too much." Wheeljack teased. One katana was sheathed.

His rebuttal was swift:

"That distress call could have been detected, rendering it a distinct possibility that reinforcements will arrive to investigate – including Predacons." he snapped. "If you had waited for my orders we would not –"

[Commander Magnus?]

He cut off his tirade long enough to answer: "Bulkhead? You had _best_ be prepared to answer for what you did..."

[I know, I know. But sir...I-I found Miko. She's alright.]

A weight he hadn't registered lifted from his spark. He supposed that was one positive outcome, and it proved his assumption to be accurate: just because the humans assumed they were dangerous didn't necessarily mean they were.

"And the Cù Sith? What of it? Did it flee?"

[He was there, along with two buddies of his. They say they're still loyal to the 'Cons but they're willing to help us out – as a way to pay back for the abduction so they're saying. Funny thing is...I think we can actually trust 'em. Miko had a little talk with them and it sounds like they're not big fans of Shockwave, but they're still loyal because they feel they own him for bringing them online.]

[Yeah!] That was the female native's voice. [Apparently there's this big, scary, three-headed dragon guy buried at, uh...] Her voice grew fainter as she turned to ask: [How do you say it and where was it again?]

[Knocknarea, Ireland.] came a gruff male voice that his voice recognition programs could not identify. [It's the burial place of Scorchmark. If you truly wish te protect this planet then daennot let the Builder obtain 'is body. If ye thought yer dragon now was a 'assle...]

Magnus took the intrusion with stride. Logically the new voice had to belong to the one of the Cù Sith's allies. He had to wonder which creature it was.

"Thank you for divulging this information to us." he said politely. "At present we are occupied elsewhere, but when Bulkhead rendezvous with us we will investigate the location. Due to a... _mishap_ I expect Decepticon forces will converge on us first and foremost. I am transmitting coordinates, soldiers. I expect all of you here shortly. Am I clear?"

[Yes, sir.] answered Bulkhead.

"Good."

He cut the line. Hopefully nothing would intercept them on the way here.

The taller mech bristled when Wheeljack drove past him into the mine entrance. He strode ahead of him and blocked him, planting a pede on his hood to keep him in place.

"No engine noise. If there are troops stationed within they will hear us. It was through your clumsiness the guards were alerted."

Wheeljack actually listened to him for once and switched forms.

"Sourpuss." he said teasingly.

Ultra Magnus bristled further. Did this delinquent have some sort of _compulsion_ to kick a scraplet nest? It was a wonder Wreckers had managed to walk away from missions in one piece with him in charge, no matter how well trained they were.

Spinning away from him, he stalked inside – ensuring this time that Wheeljack remained close behind him. One mishap was enough, and one that cost them precious time was one too many in his opinion.

* * *

"Onyx. What crawled up his tailpipe and died?" Catscratch huffed. "He sounds like Ramhorn when he doesn't get to cause some minor trouble te some of the farmers every lunar cycle."

Ramhorn snorted. He and Tag-Along stiffened when the ship shuddered and lifted up.

"You get used to it after a while." Bulkhead admitted. "He's...a by-the-book mech. Following the rules is real important to him."

Catscratch's face alone made Miko laugh. That look just screamed she was going to try and irritate or prank him the instant she got the chance. If she hadn't liked the cat before, she loved her now. She hoped the cat would decide to be an ally and stick around with the 'Bots. Infernus and Blue would love her as well; Ratchet would so blow a gasket after just a few minutes of being around her. Oh, the prank possibilities were endless! And that wasn't even to mention she was just small enough (and big enough) for her to ride like a pony.

Tag-Along emitted a curious whine, earning attention from everyone else in the ship. Catscratch came up to him. She asked what was up. Tag-Along gave a series of barks, growls, whines, yips and, weirdly enough, clicks. Miko thought he sounded really worried. Her confusion cleared.

"Ah. Aye, I get ye."

"What?" Miko wondered. "What'd he say?"

"Taggy's worried about Mooney. 'e did nae show even though Ramhorn called 'im. Cannae help but wonder why. 'e usually comes."

She bounded to the front of the ship and leapt up onto the dashboard to address the bulky green pilot. Bulkhead glanced at her.

"Think we could make a quick pit stop in the Shetlands? It's nae far."

"But...Magnus told us to –"

"Nae meaning ye." Catscratch corrected. "We're 'Cons, aye? 'Bots do nae trust 'Cons. I'm askin' permission fer me and Taggy te warp te the island and find 'im; make sure 'e's un'armed. We'll come right back, ye 'ave my word."

Bulkhead considered. "Well..."

Miko almost fell to the floor laughing at the pitiful big-eyed kitten look Catscratch gave him. It worked like magic. Bulkhead gave in.

"Alright. Just be quick. Magnus is gonna want a word with you three. Just for safety I'll give you my comm. link, but not the ship's. You hit any trouble, call me. Alright? I might be able to call in some help for you."

"Thank ye uncoly."

Catscratch leapt down from the dashboard, and bounded over to Tag-Along who rose to his paws. There was a bright green flash in the ship. When it faded after a split second the two tiny beasts were quite simply gone, vanished into thin air.

* * *

Many hundreds of klicks behind the Iron Will, a squadron of like colored grey and red Eradicons screamed through the clouded skies like wailing bullets. In front of their V-shape, a great bronze dragon with amber wings flew. On detecting a familiar scent it let out a thundering screech and surged forward. On its back, its invisible passenger dug his claws in for better grip.

The flying machine. Yes, it knew that smell almost as well as that of the white mech who had dropped a cave on top of it. He had been part of the group who had led it into the strange, roaring portal that had forced it into the cold northern wastes of this unusually colorful (and wet) planet. But this time it had a hunting party to work with, and a loyal ally at its side.

" _Onyx scald you!_ " it shrieked, its roaring scream splitting the sky.

Oh, it would enjoy immeasurably tearing that mech's throat wide open. It would savor ripping its weak, conniving spark out. Only cowards resorted to tricks like that.

" _Easy there, kid._ " Ravage warned. " _Don't want to alert the prey. Moderns might not have the same level of hearing as we do, but that doesn't mean they're deaf._ "

"Keep that racket down!" squawked the Grey Flier. "You'll give me a processor ache!"

It growled angrily. Fire bubbled in its belly and rose up its neck. Ravage put a paw on his neck. The fire subsided.

" _Save your fire for the fight, kid. You'll get to tell him off eventually._ _The essence of a good hunter is patience. Don't waste your energy if the prey can just waltz into your paws._ "

It did not agree. But it sounded like sage advice. Like...like something it should already know. But that could not be. The Builder had not taught it how to hunt. It had simply been given mission parameters. It simply knew some things through...instinct. Was that the correct term? Odd. It did not feel like it was. Something was tugging at the very back of its mind...

Amber wings pumped against the wind. Engines shrieked beside it as their owners attempted to keep pace.

The scent of the great flying machine grew stronger.

"Divert flight path! The mine in the Hebrides has been attacked!" Starscream barked.

The Grey Flier flew ahead of it and raced into a cloud bank. Snorting, it flew after him. It was supposed to be on point, not him! Why break formation when all he had to do was tell it where this mine was, or transmit the data? Ravage said these moderns did so frequently to save time. Then it remembered that they hadn't the faintest idea that it could do so itself – they were only aware that _Ravage_ could speak via short-band. Why else would they train it in combat techniques, many of which it already knew?

The day it learned to speak would be a momentous one indeed. It could not wait to tell the Grey Flier _exactly_ what it thought of him.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I'll admit right now that Vigordrainer's beast mode is somewhat modified from its original goat form, but her bipedal mode does pay homage to it. The Glaistig might as well be a Scottish succubus or vampire. But goats aren't known for draining life from targets. Rats, on the other hand, _are_ known for doing that **– **often through disease. Of course, Vigordrainer's a _lot_ more dangerous that that. Thus, meet the "horned rat."**

 ***I'll let you puzzle over what Moonhowler is supposed to be...;)**


	29. Chapter 29: Snack Time

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 29

* _Note for Julien:_

 _The mini-con Preds are a little bit different than their modern counterparts. I haven't decided whether or not they can power boost others since they only have a biped and beast form, meaning it'll be difficult for them to link up with a host the same way Jetstorm and Slipstream can link up with Drift in RiD. I like to think they're a prototype mini-con model. They can work in groups, they can get places their larger brethren can't, but they can't boost them. I wanna say Micronus thought that over and was like "Eh, considering who they'd be linking with, maybe that's overkill..."_

 _Note for Kaleia:_

 _Yeah, Floodshed's little "posse of pricks" (to use Catscratch's term) are violently loyal to the Decepticon cause. Remember what Shockwave said_ – _Preds follow the strongest individual or group. With them, the best way to display dominance over others is through intimidation and fear. Catscratch's group has a more liberal interpretation of the 'Cons crusade and they're not so violently inclined. Sure, they'll cause a little trouble to the locals every now and again owing to their mischievous natures, but they don't have any blood on their hands. It's because of this clash of ideals that the conflict between the two packs really reached a head in the end; throwing neutrals and natives into the mix just made it more complicated._

* * *

Ratchet was honestly stunned by the Thunderbird's revelation. He knew Primes had unique characteristics designed to help them or else fit in line with their personalities. But being able to perform what amounted to a cortical psychic patch on a dead mech, hacking into their memories to see what had happened to them? That wasn't a talent he'd been expecting for someone like Smokescreen. What worried him most was Grimwing's warning not to perform this "link" he was doing – there was a serious risk he hadn't been aware of before now, one that hadn't been present with Optimus.

He wanted some more information, however. More details. If Infernus was in any danger, he needed to be aware of the specifics.

The medic made his way over to where Grimwing was investigating Raf's laptop screen on the elevated lounge. He had to assume Raf was still searching for Skyrender, his range becoming more obscure as he delved deeper into planetary myth and lore. When he came up behind he saw the boy was actually searching Celtic lore, and another tab detailed sea monsters.

"Grimwing? Could I have a word with you?" he asked quietly.

The Thunderbird glanced at him curiously but nodded in compliance. Ratchet drew him aside, out of immediate ear-shot of Rafael and Jack. He would have personally appreciated June's presence but she was absent obtaining supplies at the small on-site grocer. He cast one more sideways glance towards the others just to be safe. Infernus himself appeared lost in thought, gaze focused on Bluestreak yet somehow removed from reality. That was the look of someone reviewing large amounts of unfamiliar data. Whatever he'd seen was a little more than he'd probably expected, and without the vast cognitive processors a former archivist like Orion had possessed it would take him some time to interpret it all.

Time enough to have a word with their resident Thunderbird.

"You seem to know quite a significant amount about Primes, Grimwing. And the strange powers Infernus possesses."

Grimwing bowed his helm in confirmation.

"Predacons have always held Primes in high esteem, healer. Onyx Prime in particular we venerate, for he was the First Beast. Few seem to remember that if not for him, if not for his sacrifice to the Old One, neither of our races would exist."

"I'm well aware of the old stories, Grimwing. My curiosity is how _you_ seem to know them. The Hall of Records in Iacon was destroyed near the end of the War, and Decepticons are not exactly as faithful as you or others. Your terminology is also puzzling – the Old One. Do you mean Primus? You said that was how he was able to perform those strange connections with the remains, hacking their memory somehow."

The Thunderbird seemed to gather his thoughts. Then he spoke slowly, with consideration:

"It is...difficult to explain, healer. To a non-beast I mean. Our culture is different than yours in many ways, as are our views. We do not view the Old One as a single entity as you do. We view him as a collection of those who came before us. A consensus. I do not mean to sound arrogant when I say this, but Predacons such as myself were the first race, based on the mold of the First Beast. It is because of this relation to Onyx Prime that we hold greater spiritual attunement; we can connect with one another and our creator with less effort."

"Yes, yes. But _how_ do you know this?" Ratchet pressed.

Grimwing blinked. He admitted he did not know, but he also admitted that quite frequently when he was in stasis between the powerful mountain storms he would have strange dreams he could not consciously recall afterwards. What he had seen and heard and smelled he could never consciously retain, but it lingered in the back of his mind.

"Like instinct."

"No." Grimwing said, dumbfounding the old medic utterly and entirely. "Not instinct. Like actual memories. Because somehow, these things I experience in my dreams – I remember them. They are familiar in a way instinct is not. Instinct is vague and ghost-like, so deeply encoded one cannot readily identify it. Instinct is a doctor striking a knee joint and the joint responding without the person telling it to. Memories, however, are different."

Ratchet admitted for one of the rare times in his life that he found himself speechless and baffled in unison. He remembered a curious fact that Wheeljack and Bulkhead together had relayed after their Mesoamerican outing: Razorplume, too, had been able to recall old memories, one he should logically not have at all. Another interesting fact that no one seemed to have noticed was Infernus's very first vision of the bronze dragon in the ice. _That_ beast was still alive, and yet he'd been able to invade its mind through a dead beast's skull. That instance did not fit the pattern of the other remains, so perhaps that had been a fluke. More importantly, it was a well-established belief that "cycling" sparks were wiped of previous memories before they were released from the Well to start life anew, most likely to prevent overload or cognitive dissonance. There were a few old stories of 'bots somehow retaining memories of a former life, as well as some who went mad because of conflicting memories, but those were stories – there was nothing to truly corroborate them.

But did that presumed wipe occur with _clones?_ Judging by these two reports it seemed not.

A hypothesis began to slither into his mind, but he wanted more evidence of this phenomenon before he furthered it. But he was fairly certain he was right in his assumption.

"When you were circling Infernus, you seemed to be trying to remember something, or else what happened to him triggered a memory. What was it?"

The Thunderbird seemed a little uncomfortable about the question.

"I-I...I do not know what it was. But...it was familiar in the same way as those memory-dreams. I...I would _like_ to remember it in all honesty, but I cannot seem to. What little I remember was pleasant until that great wail of sorrow and agony, though I cannot recall who issued that cry."

Ratchet proceeded with his penultimate question:

"Grimwing, would you be willing to let Infernus perform that link on you? I would like to test a theory of mine."

He watched the avian's yellow optics widen in shock.

"Healer, I am not one to question one wiser than I but...that could be terribly dangerous. Linking with one who is long dead is not the same as linking with one who yet lives. I cannot in due conscience ask a Prime to risk his spark as part of an experiment. I owe him my honor and my life."

"Given the chance, I'd have him perform this on the bronze Draconian seeing as he has previously managed to invade its mind as well, though the manner was different than in other instances; that is why I am interested." Ratchet argued. "But capturing that beast would be far more dangerous than simply having him link to your mind. Here at least he would be safe from outside harm and have a medic available should events turn sour."

But the Thunderbird refused to budge. Shaking his helm, he politely refused to cooperate.

Ratchet found that he could not blame him.

He looked over at Infernus, ever hovering near his unconscious younger brother. His helm was down and his optics shuttered. The vivacious youth looked the part of a morose and tired statue eternally standing guard. He wondered what he was thinking.

* * *

 _Water. Water as far as the eye could see. Calm and smooth and a deep, shimmering blue. Sunlight twinkled above while darkness yawned below. It was not the shining energy seas of home but it felt like home._

 _He felt strong in the water. His form cut through it like a hot knife through butter, propelled by a great finned tail and clawed limbs with webbing between the individual toes. He could feel a pair of smooth horns extend from his helm, extending back. He almost didn't notice them they created so little drag. He looked back and saw his great form_ – _a mottled grey and green body that was bigger than anything he'd seen. How in the world this creature managed to remain hidden was beyond him. Or perhaps it hadn't hidden at all._

 _A shadow fell from above, blocking some of the sunlight._

 _The creature looked up. It recognized the form of a boat, but it was not the strange hollow wooden things the natives used. Advanced. And it could smell the sweetness of Energon wafting from it. It was not large but it would suffice. A deep rumble issued from its throat and it pulled up. Jaws lined with rows and rows of razor fangs gaped wide._

 _A cry. An uneven struggle. Then he saw the creature dive back beneath the water. Tendrils of Energon floated in the water like the ghostly limbs of a jellyfish._

 _The scene faded and shifted._

 _The creature ran over the open, dry land in an ungainly manner. Angry shouts in a language it did not recognize echoed from behind. Its mesh stung constantly from gunfire. Ahead, a great ravine loomed as if the planet had developed a set of jaws of its own. It tried to turn to avoid it_ – _and a strange little device hit the ground where it wanted to go, exploding outward and kicking up a storm of dust and blue fire. Roaring, it turned in the other direction. Again an explosive was thrown. It turned to face it's attackers..._

 _Whiteness crackled in his vision._

* * *

His optics opened again.

Smokescreen sorely wished Grimwing hadn't interrupted that particular vision. He'd gained precious little from it other than the fact the whatever-it-was hunted Cybertronians to sustain itself and that it looked like some kind of sea monster. It bore traits of a serpent, a whale, and a dragon. It was big. But he hadn't figured out what had been chasing it. He hadn't recognized the language, but he was no linguist. Could've been anything from Polyhexian to Kalian. The only languages he was fluent in were Iaconian and a dash of Kaonian. But it was interesting the pursuers had sounded enraged. Could that rage have been because of the consumed mini-bot boat-former?

' _Perhaps._ ' Optimus conceded. ' _We do know through the fate of Divebomb and the statements of Razorplume that Predacons did hunt our kind, both in the distant past and in more modern times. Unlike in Mesoamerica there seemingly was nothing to keep this creature in line; from what little we know it appears it had the region to itself. The ones pursuing it in your vision might be the cause of its demise. One way to confirm that would be to find out precisely where the jaw was discovered. If in the ravine then it would stand to reason those pursuing it in the vision were the ones to defeat it through use of that feature. If elsewhere it might indicate that another group or individual accomplished the kill at a later date._ '

Alright, then. He'd get Fowler or Ratchet to look into that; Raf had enough hacking to do on his hands. Or he could do it himself. Not like he had much else to do.

"Hey, Ratchet?" he asked.

The medic turned his focus onto him. "Yes?"

"Where was the jaw found exactly? Is there a way to find out?"

"Is there a reason you want to know this?"

"Just...call it a hunch?"

Ratchet looked like he wanted to ask something but for some reason kept quiet. He opened up the report the workers had written up and began to read through it. Infernus wirelessly connected to the console and read along himself...and his hunch proved right: the skull had been found down in the ravine by some workers who had gone to reinforce the bridge. That seemed to confirm those unknown individuals chasing the beast had killed it, but that gave him no clues as to who those 'bots had been. Had they been Autobots? Had they been 'Cons or even Neutrals? He didn't know.

He shifted a little closer to the medical berth, unwilling to leave Bluestreak's side completely. He needed him. It was his fault he'd gotten hurt at all. He frowned as he read onward. Slag that hunting coding. It was more trouble than it was worth. There had to be a way to control it, harness it. He'd gotten lucky at the fields. If that happened again when Megatron or the Gwyllgi or the bronze dragon was around...

' _I could assist you in that endeavor, yzoelu fi. Even your ally Grimwing could._ ' said Onyx. ' _That is, if you are willing to learn._ '

He accepted. Any help regarding that stupid hunting coding he was happy to take. He heard the beast Prime snort almost in amusement.

' _Before we begin you must alter that opinion of yours. It is not stupid, nor it is intended as a hindrance. It is a survival mechanism. Your trouble with it stems from the fact you were not forged with it; it was given to you after the fact. Thus, it is foreign. You do not understand how to use it to your advantage and you let it consume you. Beasts like Grimwing and Razorplume do know how. Grasping it is not the same as mastering it._ '

' _Okay. So what the heck is supposed to do?_ ' Infernus wondered.

* * *

Ramhorn had to grudgingly admit the lass's Autobot ally was at the least civil to him. That he had so readily let Catscratch and Tag-Along go to check on an old pack mate earned him a stripe in his book. It revealed he was not biased to be wary or violent towards them. Curious it itself, but not entirely unappreciated. Perhaps that spoke of previous interactions? Either way, it was a welcome change from having to run from vehicle-formers or else fight them to survive. The girl herself, apparently his charge, he liked. She had spirit and determination, and she let nothing truly scare her – good, respectable qualities.

"Who's this Moonhowler guy anyway? Friend of yours?"

"Aye. Old friend." Ramhorn affirmed. "But 'e didn't quite fit in. Did nae approve of our antics, and 'e approved less of the violence. Tag-Along warped 'im te the Shetlands many, many moons ago. We check on 'im every now an' then, make sure 'e's alright an' 'asn't 'it any trouble. Unlike 'ere, the locals support the mech; love 'im even. Some even call 'im the 'Reluctant Werewolf' according te 'scratch."

The lass's jaw dropped.

"No way. He's a werewolf?!" she shrieked. "Cool!"

The Ramian managed a nearly genuine smile.

"Nay, nae a real werewolf. A Canipid, like Tag-Along. Gentle spark, more'n a mite shy. 'e and Stand-Alone were great friends; 'is death 'it 'im hard. Became more aloof after that. Normally 'e shows for meet ups. But this time 'e did nae do so. 'Scratch is rightly –"

He cut off. Over the mighty thrum of the ship's engines he thought he heard something, something that made his metal hide prickle in nasty remembrance. But it was so faint it was difficult to tell whether or not his imagination was running wild or if he had actually, truly heard it. He frowned and jumped onto the passenger's seat. The ship's scanning equipment wasn't picking up anything in a twenty klick radius around it, but Ramhorn trusted his senses more than any modern technology. They might have company tailing them – unwanted company.

"Something wrong?" the hefty pilot wondered on noticing his scrutiny of the scanner.

"...I think we're bein' followed. Can ye pick up the pace any? Pr'haps we can lose 'em."

Bulkhead looked at him oddly but nodded and did so. The ship surged forward at a greater pace. The sound faded.

But Ramhorn was uneasy now. Some nagging feeling of danger haunted him, one he hadn't felt since Scorchmark's and Sizzleslash's reign of terror.

Because that roar?

It had been a Draconian's.

* * *

The ship hit ground with a faint thud. The hatch hissed open. Ahead and all around of them lay the rolling hills of Hebrides, below them the mine. He'd thought it best to keep up above to keep any fleeing 'Cons from hijacking it.

Bulkhead didn't even have to shepherd Miko and Ramhorn out – they went out themselves. But he noticed Ramhorn made sure to keep Miko behind him at all times. Guy was on edge. Why? Nothing had shown up on scanners, and a look at the sky showed nothing headed their way. Maybe the guy was just being cautious. He and his pals had been trained to hide from danger for many years. Paranoia.

"Come on, Bulk! We gotta get down there!"

Without even the slightest hint of hesitation the girl raced to the cliff's edge and began to try to scale down the cliff-side. He rushed to stop her but Ramhorn beat him to it. That act convinced him these little guys weren't like other 'Cons. The goat-former reached down like lighting and grabbed her, pulling her back up. He looked less than thrilled at her attempt but he seemed almost to respect her for that dumb courage she displayed.

"How 'bout you let _us_ do the rock climbing, huh?" suggested the Wrecker. "Come on; I'll give ya a lift."

Once Miko was safely situated, the two mechs began to scale down the cliff-side as slowly and carefully as each could. Judging from the bodies beneath them it looked like Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack had made it inside alright, but the Commander's call for help meant this brawl hadn't gone down as smoothly as he'd hoped; a "mishap" had taken place. Hopefully there was only a sprinkling of miners and guards within.

Miko was released once they reached ground level. Grinning, she jogged inside. Bulkhead followed her in, one hand morphing into a mace and the other into a gun. He had no idea what to expect inside. But on noticing their little horned friend not following, the Wrecker looked back, curious. He saw Ramhorn standing just beyond the threshold of the mine, helm tilted skyward. One audial swiveled a few degrees to the side. He stood like that for almost a full three minutes as if he were suddenly rooted to the spot. An odd noise Bulkhead couldn't describe escaped his vocalizer and he ducked inside, transforming. His uneasiness was easier to read now.

"We need te 'urry." His voice was tense.

Transforming, he gestured for Miko to hop on. Grinning and eager, the girl happily climbed aboard. He almost didn't wait for Miko to find grips for her limbs before he bounded off into the darkness, forcing the Wrecker to run after him.

Then, almost in unison, the mechs picked up the sound of blaster fire. As the Ramian headed ever deeper, Miko soon heard the same thing.

"Go, Ramhorn! GO!" she shouted.

Ramhorn obliged.

* * *

A miner was shot in the visor. As it stumbled forward, Magnus grabbed it and flung it at the nearest wall. But there were still a half dozen of the armed miners in the main chamber, and two Insecticons had been 'bridged in as back-up. Just as he'd thought, the guard's distress call had been heard. He supposed they were lucky only two of the gurgling abominations had been sent in.

"This is why I constantly ask myself how the Wreckers managed to survive with you as their commander!" Magnus snapped. "You completely ignore caution!"

Wheeljack grunted and hacked the arms off another miner. He retorted:

"And _you're_ so cautious you refuse to take even tiny risks! No risk, no reward! Ever hear that one?"

Before he could snap back, one of the Insecticons rushed him and barreled into him, knocking him back. He blocked a swipe at the cost of the creature's claws shattering his blade. Undaunted, he raised the stump of the weapon to strike back. A blast to its faceplates disoriented it, and he took quick advantage to slice off one of its mandibles. Angered, the brute struck him soundly on the helm. His vision fritzed as he fell.

Then a voice: "PAWS OFF, UGLY!"

Something bronze, copper, and pewter colored promptly cannoned itself into the Insecticon's chassis hard enough for it to crack like an eggshell and knock it back as if struck by a battering ram. He honestly thought his processor was damaged when he saw the culprit: a strange creature with heavy, curling horns on its helm, snorting and dragging a hoof against the stone and dirt. Most astonishing of all – Bulkhead's young charge sat on its back. It was...was this real? It seemed too strange. His processor must've taken some brunt damage...

Bulkhead coming in behind the metal goat convinced him that, yes, there was a high probability this was real. His logical thought began to function again. Simple reasoning dictated this was one of the Cù Sìth's allies. He would know for sure once he had a voice print.

"Don't make me do what I did to Hardshell!" she warned. "I got a goat and a bunch of Wreckers and I'm not afraid to use 'em!"

"Miko...?" murmured Magnus in shock.

The goat snorted violently, once more dragging a front hoof across the floor. To Magnus that translated to, yes, it was indeed an ally. A goat though? Really? Was there a goat in Celtic folklore? He didn't recall one...and was that a Decepticon badge on its shoulder...? He had the feeling that might be because of his addled processor and fritzing sight. No Decepticon would freely aid an Autobot or a human. History said otherwise. He remained on his knee pikes, watching. Something about this didn't ring quite right, yet he was seeing it.

Enemy blasters were lifted up and aimed. A noise was emitted by the goat, and in an astrosecond it transformed into a rabid battering ram. Incredible seeing as it was not much larger than the horse that had attacked on their arrival, but then a lot of incredible things were happening on this solar cycle.

Before the miner under the goat's gaze could lift its weapon it was head-butted violently enough for it to hit the nearest wall and crumple, a massive dent in its chassis. Another miner opened fire and shot almost blindly in an effort to hit it as it zigzagged wildly; it's gun barrel was quickly separated from the rest of its arm by a whirling katana. Another blade impaled into its helm and it was flung to the ground. Magnus forced himself to his pedes and fired a strong blast at the Insecticon, slamming another miner with his elbow and kicking a third back. He brought out his yet-undamaged second blade and jabbed it into the spark chamber of the Insecticon, shoving it away. As it stumbled and readied to fall, the goat jumped up and rammed its horns into the final miner's knee pike, shattering the joint mechanisms within. Staggering, it fell – and was crushed when the Insecticon followed suit.

"Whoo!" Miko hooted. "And that's how you take out the trash!"

The goat gave a little buck and lay down to let the girl off its back. It then turned to him and nodded. He subjected the little beast to a skeptical, piercing look. It did indeed bear a Decepticon insignia. His ion cannon was aimed. This "assistance" it had given could be double-sided.

"No! Wait!" Miko exclaimed. "Uh, Ramhorn, Ultra Magnus. Ultra Magnus, Ramhorn. Don't worry. He's a 'Con but he's not a psycho. He's got some friends like him too: Catscratch and Tag-Along. They're just checking on a pal of theirs on some other island. Ramy's the one who told you where Scorchmark was buried. He's cool."

Twin brow ridges rose but the gun was not lowered. "Hmm. Forgive me for being skeptical, but Decepticons openly aiding Autobots is unheard of here. You must have a motive for this uncharacteristic cooperation."

"Seriously?" Miko deadpanned. "He gave you intel that could get him killed and you don't trust him? He's risking his neck doing this! You thanked him earlier!"

* _Ye 'ave every reason nae te trust me, Autobot._ * said the goat over short-band. * _But my motives are nae ulterior. We suffered greatly under Scorchmark an' Sizzleslash's reign an' 'ave no desire te be under 'is command again. This arrangement benefits us both. I can safely betray a cause that was twisted from its original form long ago. Blind slaughter of the enemy is nae a social revolution. It's just slaughter._ *

The gun was lowered but not deactivated. The mech recognized the voice print as the one who had provided the data about the true nature of Knocknarea. But admittedly he was still wary. According to the Prime's team, the last time a Decepticon had pretended to be an ally to them Omega One had nearly been compromised. However, most Decepticons didn't second guess their mission or lose spark in it, and fewer still knew the cause had started as just that – a social revolution.

A 'Con having doubts...perhaps this wasn't the trap he thought it was.

"Your data is accurate? No falsehoods?"

The ram looked insulted.

* _Why would I lie te ye? I 'aven't been in cahoots with the Grey King's forces fer centuries, an' they 'aven't contacted me. We an' my pack were 'unted by the still-loyal because we would nae follow orders and 'unted by yer kind because we we're 'Cons and beasts. I knew nothing of their plans until the lass told me. We've lived in fear fer most of our lives, Autobot. We 'ave less reason te trust ye than ye 'ave te trust us._ *

The gun was reverted back to a harmless limb. This was not a true, blindly loyal Decepticon. This was someone questioning the real mission of the Decepticon cause. A Decepticon who lived in fear _of_ Decepticons.

"Very well." said Magnus stiffly. "Though my thanks earlier was blind, as I was unaware of your allegiance, my thanks now is more sincere. Your help is appreciated in combating this threat we face. But trust is not earned in the span of a few conversations. I require more proof."

"Seriously?" Miko deadpanned again. "What is your problem?! He just saved your life!"

Magnus whirled on her, towering above her and scowling.

"My 'problem' as you term it is soldiers being duped into trusting Decepticon agents slipped into our ranks and then being led into traps and slaughtered in droves or else captured, tortured, and experimented on. I have very little reason to put my faith in a Decepticon, no matter if he no longer believes in the cause. For all I know, all of this is nothing but a pretense to earn our sympathy and trust."

Taken aback, Miko blinked. She glanced sideways to find Ramhorn's head bowed.

"Well, I believe him, sir." Bulkhead stated simply. "He had every chance to kill Miko, kill me, or take us both prisoner, sabotage your ship, and fly off to the warship – and he didn't. None of them did."

"Neither did Makeshift. He did not reveal himself until it was almost too late."

The arguing mechs started when the goat let out a sound and leapt in front of Miko defensively. Moments later came the sound of pedefalls and a low screeching growl that each of them was all too familiar with. They turned to to the sole tunnel that led out of the chamber they were in, weapons activating instinctively. Miko jerked back at what stood there blocking the exit.

"The Predacon." Ultra Magnus said.

As if taking offense, the bronze dragon's maw gaped open and it issued a screaming roar that forced Bulkhead's charge to cover her ears.

"Hold your ground!" cried the taller mech.

"Ready for round two, beastie?" taunted Wheeljack as he drew his blades.

* _Wait._ * the goat warned over short-band. * _I don't think he came_ – _OOF!*_

Something unseen contacted Ramhorn and he was sent tumbling towards the opposite end of the chamber, Miko shrieking and shielding her head. Unseen claws raked along his bronze and copper armor with savage speed and fervor. Somehow the goat-former managed to transform to reveal a mech that looked almost like a Greek satyr. Grunting, his cloven pedes kicked at his invisible assailant hard enough to earn a canine-like yip of pain as it was forced off and when it hit the ground a good ten feet away. A black form the size of a bear flickered as it glitching into existence. Ramhorn forced himself to his pedes, a hand covering the rends on his chassis.

"The Gwyllgi!" Bulkhead exclaimed.

"Now do you believe me that he's not a bad guy?!" Miko demanded, hand still over her head.

The bronze dragon charged at Wheeljack then, screaming and in a blind berserker rage. Wheeljack met it midway and swiped both blades at its snout. A claw was swiped in return, and its mandible-d maw snapped at the white Wrecker.

"'Jackie! Hold it off!" Bulkhead shouted. He then focused on Ultra Magnus: "Sir, I know you may not like this, but I'm calling in Ramhorn's friends! I gave 'em my comm. frequency! Tag-Along can teleport! He can get here faster!"

"Do it!" Magnus thundered. He fired off round after round at the bronze dragon to try to draw its attention.

And so Bulkhead lifted a hand to his helm and opened up the line to the foreign comm. links many, many klicks away.

"Catscratch! Tag! If you're hearing me, we need your help!"

The Gwyllgi pounced at him, clawing at his helm and striking one audial. There was a frizzle of sparks and pops as the comm. link and part of his audial receptor was shredded to ribbons. The black hound fell and kicked its hind paws into his chest. The beast growled and readied to pounce again –

 _CHANG!_ A stone struck the Gwyllgi in the side. Horrified, Bulkhead's gaze snapped over to where Miko stood.

"Get away from my friend, mutt!" she challenged.

Quickly she scooped up another stone from the floor and, aiming it, threw it at the black hound. But this time the beast caught it in its jaws and it was crushed like a particularly hard jaw-breaker candy. Its shattered remains rained onto the ground.

"Uh..." Miko gulped. "N-Nice doggie...?"

Emitting a hissing growl, the Gwyllgi forewent Bulkhead in favor of her and stalked over. She backed away as it came nearer and nearer until she felt herself hit the wall.

"MIKO!" Wheeljack hollered. "RUN!"

The bronze dragon took the opening that warning gave it and slammed its tail into the white Wrecker hard enough to send him flying. He hit the back wall with a grunt and fell, but he pushed himself up in moments. The dragon slunk over, fire bubbling in its chassis and rising up its neck as it reared up on its hind legs. A hand hovered over the grande on his hip. If he timed and aimed this just right...all those volatile chemicals and gasses churning inside it would make one heck of an explosion when the grenade went off.

"Wheeljack!" she cried. Her cry was stifled when the Gwyllgi drew a step nearer.

A flash of green engulfed the chamber like a firework going off.

 _MAIO-EEYOW!_

A black form emerged from the flash with a feline yowl and landed atop the bronze dragon's snout. Claws came out, striking bolts of black rending the dragon's yellow optics apart. In moments, strange silvery-blue fluid began to seep out of the cracks the cat's claws made. Surprised and in obvious pain, the dragon roared and reeled back and violently shook its head to dislodge its attacker. But the feline gamely hung on like a bull rider in a rodeo tournament, yowling and managing to get yet more damage in.

"Catscratch!" Miko hooted.

The dragon roared and reared again, grasping at its snout and backing up. Still the black feline refused to let go.

Two more forms, a large mottled green dog and a grey, silver, and pale lavender dog dropped down onto the floor. Both snarled, fangs bared, at the black form of the Gwyllgi across from them. Optics narrowed to slits, the Gwyllgi turned away from her and growled back.

* * *

" _Tag-Along._ "

" _Ravage._ " growled Tag-Along.

Ravage's gaze transferred to the other Canipid who looked much the worse for wear.

" _I'm surprised you're still online, Moony. Weaklings like you tend to become easy prey._ "

" _Funny. I was about te say the same thing about_ _ye_." Moonhowler retorted calmly. " _Te ambush the prey rather than fight claw-te-claw is a coward's tactic if I ever saw one._ "

Ravage growled: " _And only a coward betrays their alpha!_ "

The three Canipids squared off like gun-slingers priming to quick draw their guns. They circled, almost unheeding of the fight taking place between the dragon, the Wreckers, and the cat. On an invisible signal the three hounds rushed each other and their forms were soon entangled in a savage free-for-all, barking and biting and clawing at one another.

* * *

Within less than a minute, Moonhowler was ejected from the fray and staggered away, panting. It had been many stellar cycles since last he'd battled, and it showed painfully. Frankly, the most strenuous things he'd done was run from the locals and fish from his favorite spot. His helm jerked to the side on hearing the light pitter-pat of human feet in time to see the young girl dart towards him to avoid the Draconian's savage dance with Catscratch and the vehicle-formers. With a grunt of mingled effort and pain he dropped his beast form to speak with her.

"Stay back, lass." he warned in a soft growl, holding a hand out to block her path. "This be nae fight fer ye. Find cover."

"Check the mirror, Fido." she retorted with a snort. "You didn't even last thirty seconds."

There was a great scream and a thud when the dragon finally managed to dislodge the black cat from its snout. The tussling Canipids were for a moment distracted. Tag-Along took his chance and warped over to the cat before his black combatant could pin him. His prey now out of easy reach, Ravage focused on Moonhowler. Though not a warrior by nature or nurture, the peaceful wulver took up a defensive stance in front of the lass.

Ravage pounced. Midair, Bulkhead's mace struck the hound with the force of a freight train, sending the black beast careening across the chamber to slam into the bronze Draconian.

"Pick on somebody your own size!" snapped the green Wrecker.

He intended the taunt for the hound, but the dragon was the one who responded. Screaming, it unleashed a torrent of fire in his direction. Instinctively, Moonhowler grabbed the lass, curled around her, and hunkered down just as the river of scalding heat washed over them. He heard the Autobot grunt as the fire struck him, but he remained upright. But that didn't last – the dragon rushed over with terrifying speed and slammed into the mech, claws leaving nasty, leaking scratches on his metal hide.

"Cover yer ears, lass." Moonhowler warned softly.

His pack mates shut off their audials, and Miko covered her ears. But he was unable to get the message to the Autobots over the dragon's roaring din; shouting would alert the others.

Moonhowler transformed. He took a step back, flung his helm high – and howled.

The Autobots gave cries of pain and clamped hands over their audials at the deafening noise that came from the Canipid's mouth. The opposing beasts were no different, staggering and wailing in agony. Taking the chance, Tag-Along warped over to Ravage, clamped his jaws into his neck, and warped him away. A second passed, then two, and his fellow beast returned. The howl thus ended as abruptly as it had begun.

Now that just left the dragon.

* * *

Through the ache in his processor, Wheeljack detached the grenade from his hip. The beastie was disoriented and in pain from that howl-thing the wolf dog had done, screaming and shaking its helm around as it blindly careened left and right. He wouldn't get a better chance than this.

"Hey, petrol-breath!" he taunted.

The dragon whirled on him and rushed, maw open as it screamed on. Transforming, Wheeljack led it out of the chamber. On hearing a yowl he noticed the black cat's energy signal tailing him – with a human bio-signature superimposed over it. It outpaced the dragon easily and leapt onto his canopy.

"Mind if we join the party, Wheeljack?" Miko wondered over the rush of the wind and the roar of his engine.

Heh. Crazy kid. He honked approval and sped onward. An intersection approached.

"Hang on!"

The cat dug its claws in and crouched as he hit his brakes and swerved down another tunnel. The dragon careened into the walls but continued the chase, its hide barely even dinged. A stream of fire was shot. He spun his wheel hard to one side and avoided it.

* _'Jackie! The scrap's the big idea?!_ * Bulkhead demanded over private comm's.

* _Two words, Bulk: snack time._ *

The tunnel grew smaller and narrower. Knowing what he knew about mines that meant another chamber was coming up, and he sped into it. The place wasn't as large as the one he'd been in; he and the cat could maneuver in the space just fine, but the dragon would have a heck of a time with its larger size. The cat seemed to follow his line of thought and hopped off to let him transform and ready the explosive. He didn't even need to tell the cat to take cover with Miko – it did so by itself, running towards some stalagmites and heavy stones and hunkering down behind them. Two glowing optics peeped out.

And right on cue, the dragon charged in. It opened its maw and screamed.

If a cave in couldn't stop this thing...maybe a live grenade down its gullet could.

"Snack time, beastie!"

He flipped the pin and flung the grenade dead center at the beast's gaping jaws.

And the clever plan he'd patched together fell apart a mere foot from the target.

The dragon's tail whipped up and around and smacked the explosive away. Wheeljack's optics went round in shock. It bounced off one wall, hit a boulder, hit another boulder, hit a second wall – and then rolled to a stop dangerously close to where Miko and the cat were hiding.

"Son of a –" he couldn't get the whole phrase out when:

 _ **KA-BANG!**_

The chamber shook as blue flame erupted outwards. The ceiling rumbled and began to collapse. Wheeljack tried to run for the exit but the dragon's tail struck him and sent him flying to one side. Through his fritzing vision he saw the beast run helter skelter trying to avoid the avalanche of stone. A large chunk of the ceiling fell and struck it on the helm, and the beast fell. Stone quickly buried it.

A trio of stones struck him. The world spun. His vision blacked out.


	30. Chapter 30: Bite-Sized Agents

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 31

* _Note to Guest: Oh my lord. Hold your horses. I got a life outside this writing you know! XD Now that college is back in swing I got homework again, yo. Chill.  
_

 _Final chapter for the Scotland/Ireland saga, so this'll be a pretty long one. Miko's gonna play a bit of a larger role in this than she did in the original episode.  
_

 _Also, a heads up for what's coming: I'd love to explore further, but I feel it's time to get a move on. I might do a one-shot to focus on Nightscream, Flare-Up, and Cave-In rather than involve them in the main story, since it'll be purely the Decepticon side of things. Next we're heading to Japan, and that'll be all. I focused on the national origin of the three kids (Raf_ _– Mexico/Spain. Jack_ _– America. And Miko_ _– Japan). I involved Ireland/Scotland/British Isles due to a major plot point that I'd like to play with. I need to get on with the main story. Season 3 can't go on forever! :P_

* * *

Growling, Ravage dragged himself out of the depths of some body of water. The teleport had left his navigation programs in a whirl, but thank Onyx his sense of smell still worked despite the stench of the lake he'd just crawled out of. He still hadn't the faintest idea where that simpering pup Tag-Along had dropped him though. It certainly didn't smell any different than the Hebrides Bluffs, but it was hard to pick out unique scents when his nostrils were clogged with lake water. The smell was just overpowering.

Slag that pup's quick processor. Rendering a Canipid scent-blind was a good way to land them out of the field for a while, for smell was their most powerful sensory asset.

He shook himself to free more droplets from his hide. Ravage then tried to activate his cloaking mechanism only to find to his dismay that the water appeared to have left it intermittently glitchy. He cursed his bad luck. He'd been in water before and the glitching wasn't exactly unexpected, but this was exactly why he tried to avoid bodies of water (and heavy storms for that matter) in the first place: they left him vulnerable. If history was any line of hope then the mechanism should start working properly once it was free of water and had had a chance to dry out. In the meantime he could get his bearings by contacting Soundwave. Once he knew where he was, the silent mech could get him a groundbridge back to the Bluffs, and then he could teach Tag-Along why he'd earned his name.

[Silent Listener, this is Ravage.] he began. [I need location data.]

* * *

Catscratch awoke with a hiss of pain. Instantly she began coughing from the dust and debris in her vents. Shuddering, she forced it out despite the scream of pain her body gave in answer. She was hurt; didn't take a genius to figure that one out. But pain was a good thing to wake up to: it meant you were still among the livin'. And the heat tucked carefully beneath her breathing quietly meant the lass was still with her, too.

Her peridot optics unshuttered with care to find the world around her dark. She tried to move but found it nigh impossible to. The cave in had pinned her in an uncomfortable position, and she was fearful of triggering a second collapse. That might make this situation worse. The little Felioid didn't need to smell to know she bore some wounds from the fallen stones. The pain alone told her that. A sniff at the air made her spark drop in her chassis: the tang of iron. Blood. The lass must've gotten hurt, but unless she could move her body to see she had no idea just how bad the lass's hurt was. Regardless, she tried to shift into a better position, keeping the lass beneath her at all costs. She could take the damage. The lass couldn't.

But she couldn't move. The boulders were just too heavy for her.

Her spirits lifted when she heard the roar of engines, the sounds of transformation, and the thudding of heavy, wide pedes. Lighter pedes echoed behind them: Tag-Along, Ramhorn, and Moonhowler. Thank Onyx. Maybe their combined strength could clear all this rubble and get her an' the lass outta this tight spot. But they also had to be careful not to wake that radge Draconian. She and the Seelies might as well as be scran for that fire-breathing blighter. Onyx – the moment she found a friendly Draconian would be the moment she sprouted wings.

* _In...we're in 'ere._ * Catscratch managed to get out over short-band.

[Oh, thank Primus you're alive!] Bulkhead answered back. [What about Miko and 'Jackie?!]

* _She's 'urt a mite, but she's still breathin'_. _No idea 'bout yer pal. Nae smellin' lightnin' from any breaches. Must be alright._ *

[We'll start clearing the debris, then.] the rule-stickler Magnus told her. [Try not to move. And keep Miko sheltered.]

* _Aye. Will do._ *

She heard them spread out. The sounds of rubble shifting met her audials in moments, but it was over where the entrance to the cavern had been. She heard Tag-Along and Ramhorn jump up and tip-toe across the top of the debris pile. Moonhowler apparently was hanging back for whatever reason, whining softly, but she didn't really blame him. The mech held a distinct aversion to Draconians ever since Stand-Alone's death, so seeing one now was a nightmare made real. Honestly, she was worried if the brute woke up – would Moonhowler be able to help fight it? He was a gentle spark to start with, but that old wound still festered. Even to this solar cycle they had no idea how Stand-Alone had come to be so close to Sizzleslash's cavern; she and the Seelies had avoided that place like the Rust Plague ever since the split. None of them dared go anywhere near it, not then and not now. With her out of the way things were relatively peaceful.

At last the rubble above her shifted and moved. As the last of the debris was taken away, light came in, framing Ramhorn's body and helm. A hand reached down but she shook her helm, growling that the lass was hurt.

" _Get 'er out first._ "

Tag-Along and Ramhorn worked together until a good-size space had been cleared. Catscratch stood to her full height then and, reaching under, gingerly plucked the lass up in her jaws, passing her to the mottled green Canipid. Now she could see her wounds – and she counted her lucky that they weren't any worse. Even still, the sight of the crimson oozing from her cuts made the Felioid a little nauseated. She didn't even need to look to know that Bulkhead's expression was one of horror – his inarticulate cry spoke volumes.

She gave a sharp hiss. " _Taggy. Get the lass inte the ship. She'll be safe in there._ "

Tag-Along whined, nodded, and readied to warp away. Bulkhead tried to rush forward to stop him, anger and suspicion broiling in his field, but she stopped him with a glance.

[Taggy's just puttin' 'er on yer ship, Autobot. Relax. Let's get yer pal out.]

The look on the strict one's faceplates actually made her nervous. Black anger simmered there, a fire about to burst outwards into a roaring blaze.

She and Ramhorn bounded over to where the white Wrecker had been buried and set to work a second time. Boulders were moved till ivory was seen through the cracks. At that point the mech did the rest, heaving himself up and out of the rubble. He brushed off some of the debris – and Magnus was on him in an instant, titan's hands around a cabled throat.

"Even a first-cycle cadet knows not to use a grenade in a confined space!" he snarled. "Your recklessness nearly cost Miko her life!"

Catscratch frankly shared his opinion. Back arching and audials pinned, she issued a scathing hiss in his direction. Someone as reckless as Wheeljack apparently was needin' of a good thumpin' on the helm. Maybe that could set those neural pathways aright again.

"I was aimin' for the mouth!" Wheeljack shot back. "I didn't expect the thing to react at the last second and botch the plan! Thing ain't supposed to be that smart!"

Magnus's grip on his throat slackened, but not by much. The bonfire wrath in his countenance chilled to a glacial glare.

" _Always_ expect the unexpected, soldier. If you had _told me_ of the plan over private line perhaps this could've been better planned. A civilian would not have been harmed and our location would not have been compromised beyond what it already was. You had best hope any incoming Decepticons cannot gain access to my ship, and that Tag-Along can defend her if so."

"...You realize she took out an Insecticon and some troopers with just a goat, right?" deadpanned the Wrecker. "That kid's got more bearings than you do."

The glare the larger mech gave was inches away from being truly murderous. Bulkhead shoved himself between the two before things took a turn to the violent side. Honestly, he was wondering how in the heck he was managing to keep them them from gouging each other's optics out. Primus, what he'd give to have Jack or Blue here. The Wrecker wasn't sure how much longer he could play the go-between. To be brutally honest, he was pissed at 'Jackie too – that sort of reckless act wasn't his style anymore. He was a seasoned veteran, not a rookie, and he cared about Miko even if it was in a different way than he showed.

But...accidents did happen he argued. 'Jackie wouldn't have hurt Miko on purpose. Never.

"Magnus has a point though, 'Jackie: this could have been avoided if you'd just let me and him in on the plan."

Wheeljack snorted: "There wasn't time."

Frowning, Magnus turned his focus on the metal ram. In a tone of voice as level as he could manage he asked if Ramhorn could show them where anything of interest was in the cavern. He had to admit shock when the little beast nodded, snorted, bucked, and headed for the semi-collapsed tunnel he and Bulkhead had come in through. Catscratch scampered over to meet him; Moonhowler lagged behind, tail to the ground and audials flat. The mech still didn't feel safe letting a Decepticon lead them around, but the little ones were being helpful to them despite their loyalty. Protecting not only his soldiers but a native from an attack – that had been the last thing he had expected from someone still "loyal."

And so they followed the little beasts deeper into the mine. The tunnels began to look better maintained the further in they went. For a mine with only a few exterior guards it was surprisingly well kept.

"Is this mine one you protect?"

[Aye.] Moonhowler said in his soft voice. [Nae many mines on these isles. Ground nae good fer them. This is ours. The other, Scorchmark's, is nearly dry. There're other deposits, but they're small an' 'ard te get at.]

"Probably why the 'Cons are more focused on this one." Wheeljack grunted. "Easier pickings."

"Are there any...remains here?" Ultra Magnus queried, feeling a bit brunt. He wished there was a better way to word a question like that.

He wasn't surprised when he got cold glares and no answers. Yet another fascinating implication of Predacons: they held extreme reverence for the dead, far more so than his own kind did. If Razorplume of Mexico was any indication for the race as a whole, they would _kill_ to defend their dead. Grimwing himself had shown reverence for the natives he had slain by giving them a proper burial – even pleading for their forgiveness. If they continued fossil hunting they would need to show greater respect (should there be wardens or protectors) or risk lethal complications.

Out of nowhere the scraggly grey Canipid lurking by Magnus's heel struts whined and quickened his pace, bounding ahead. The other mini-con beasts were quick to follow his lead. None of three mechs heard anything themselves but they went after the little beasts regardless. The last time any one of them had behaved this way a bronze dragon and a Welsh hell-hound had come barreling in to kill them. Trusting the senses of a beast over their own seemed like a reasonable idea.

* * *

Tag-Along whined as he placed Miko on the ground. He sorely wished there was something softer and warmer he could lay her on than cold, hard metal. Oh, his territory for some blankets. And human medical supplies for that matter. He kind of doubted a Cybertronian ship would have human bandages tucked away in a compartment somewhere, but he made a frantic search regardless. Nothing, not even something that could be used as one.

The only thing stopping him were the pedefalls and voices outside. Again a threat was issued:

" _If you try to warp away, Predacon, Soundwave will simply track you down again. So come out while your friend and I are still feeling generous._ "

The mottled green Canipid growled softly. That voice was belonging of a _caimiléir_ like Vigordrainer. But he knew the threat was an honest one. He couldn't run; that would just delay capture. Eventually they'd just barge into the ship. Surrender would give the 'bots the wrong idea. So what do to?

A hollow groan made him spin. The lass was waking.

"Tag?"

He came over and gave her a sniff, whining. She seemed grateful to see him. Reaching a hand out she used his snout to push herself to her legs. Lass wasn't letting her wounds get to her. He liked that. Strong, this one. No wonder that modern liked her so much.

" _I'm waiting, Predacon..._ "

He whined again and cast a rapid glance to the hatch-ramp. He gently grabbed her by her shirt and tugged her away from it. This time she didn't struggle, but she did question the act.

"Whoa, whoa! What's going on? Trouble?"

Tag-Along bobbed his helm. Again he cast a rapid glance at the hatch-ramp, this time growling.

"Don't tell me. 'Cons?"

He nodded again.

Miko swore. "How many?"

He used his paw to ghost-etch the number "five" onto the floor. Then he etched out "dog" and growled as savagely as he could, paw swiping at the air. Miko swore again. The Gwyllgi. Great. She should've known warping the thing away wouldn't deal with it. Slender-'Con had probably just 'bridged him back so the thing finish mauling them to pieces. Maybe it was a good thing the Gwyllgi and his buddies were focused on Tag-Along; she wasn't sure the 'Bots could handle 'Cons and the Gwyllgi at once after a cave in.

She was slagged if she'd sit here as a hostage though. Wreckers didn't sit pretty and wait for back-up. They called for clean-up.

"Can you get me up there?" she asked, pointing to the alien dashboard.

Tag-Along's helm bobbed. She didn't struggle when he grabbed the neck of her shirt and warped in his dizzying emerald flash. Now where she wanted to be, he watched as the lass scrambled around looking for anything that might offer aid. Every time he heard the soldiers speak outside he couldn't help but whine in anxiety. But his hopes rose a mite when when the lass sported a wicked grin out of the blue and hit one of the strange ghost-keys. A sound came, one he was unfamiliar with. Then:

" _Ultra Magnus?_ " asked a youthful voice.

"Stick-in-the-mud is busy right now." Miko answered. "I need some help here, Smoke. We're in trouble."

" _Miko? What is it? Are you okay? You're not hurt, are you?_ "

"Is there a 'bot there that knows Magnus's ship controls?"

" _Uh, I mean...ship controls are pretty universal. I don't see how helping you with that_ –"

"It's a _very_ good idea." snapped the lass in a bout of short-temper. "I'm trapped on his ship; I got 'Cons and a jerkhole hellhound camping outside, and everyone else got buried in a cave in with a bronze dragon. I need a way to see if they're okay and to know who exactly is out there so me and my friend can deal with 'em. I gotta get these campers cleared so the guys have a path."

Tag-Along whined. This was not the wise choice. The wise choice would be for him to turn himself over; maybe then the Decepticons would leave the lass and her allies be. They were here for him – they had made that plain. All he had to do was walk out and save everyone a boatload of trouble. And yet...he didn't know for sure that they wouldn't order him to attack, and if they did that would only sour his relations further. He was in hot water enough.

" _Alright. Um. I'm not sure how you plan to get up on the control panel, but look for a holo-key with a kinda sunburst-y looking design on it; just below it there'll be some cyberglyph writing. It's a command key so it'll be larger than the input ones. That'll trigger a local scan._ "

It took only moments for the lass to find the command key in question. A touch later and the scanner lit up with six red blips surrounding the ship on all sides. Farther away, nearer the Bluffs and on the move, were six more blips, an additional one remaining immobile. Tag-Along's spark lifted at that. It seemed the Draconian had yet to wake and resume the hunt. Of the thirteen signals, four bore identifications beside them: Wheeljack, Bulkhead, Ultra Magnus, and right outside was –

"Starscream." Miko spat the last name out like a curse. "Perfect. Been wanting to blast this jerk into scrap."

Tag-Along issued a low growl. He remembered the Grey Flier. The Grey King's adjunct was a sparked schemer with a notorious reputation for impulsive acts of violence, and he was a backstabber to boot. He respected him the least out of all Decepticon officers. He should've guessed it was him just from his voice. If attacking the Grey Flier labeled him as a traitor then so be it. That mech deserved some bite marks on his behalf. The Grey King might even let the attack go; though detached as they were from Decepticon forces it didn't take a genius to assume the Grey Flier's schemes extended to his alpha.

He nudged the lass and whined, red gaze determined.

The two shared a nod.

"Get Raf for me if he's not there already." she said to the voice. "Have him look into Knocknarea, Ireland. And have him search up any three headed dragons from Ireland."

" _I could do that. Raf deserves a bit of a break._ " This was a new voice. Young, definitely male and a bit older than the lass's own, the voice bore a different accent. American without a doubt.

The lass smiled a little. "Thanks, Jack."

" _No problem. Give 'em hell, Miko._ "

Tag-Along had to give credit where credit was due. Despite her injuries the lass wasn't backing down from a spat with creatures three times her size. The Autobots had taught her well the value of _Misneach._

Miko honed in on the weapons controls. Tag-Along readied to warp.

* * *

Starscream was getting impatient. Not only did that Draconian have yet to show up, the warping beast in the ship refused to come out.

' _So much for Shockwave's assurance that Predacons are loyal and brave._ ' he thought with twisted contempt. ' _And Lord Megatron wants to use them as soldiers. Pah._ '

At least the strange Welsh hellhound Ravage was loyal, though he wasn't a fan of his threats – or his questioning of his orders. His ability to speak had come as unpleasant surprise. It was irritating that he was more than happy to follow Megatron's or Shockwave's orders, but did not seem to be happy to do the same for him. He was Lord Megatron's second! He deserved respect! Shockwave had even said they respected the highest ranking members of social groups! Where was the respect he was owed?

"My patience has limits, Predacon!" the Seeker snapped. "Come out now or I'll have my armada blast that ship to ruin!"

At his heels Ravage snarled, both sets of red optics becoming slits.

* _Tag-Along and his ilk are cowards and traitors, Starscream. They can't be trusted. We should not bother with them._ *

"That's _Commander_ Starscream, beast!" he corrected in a harsh snarl of his own. "Megatron has plans for the teleporter you call Tag-Along, and I will _not_ return empty-handed!"

Ravage snarled back at him, fangs bared, but he did not attack. The Seeker couldn't help but smirk. The beast knew his place, and woe to the fool who disobeyed or failed their Lord.

"Commander!" one of the Armada prompted. "Tachyon readings inside are spiking! Target's getting ready to warp again!"

* _Puh. That fool thinks he can fight all of us on his own?_ *

Starscream nearly laughed in agreement. Perhaps the little beast could manage on its own, but not even the Draconian had been able to pierce the Apex Armor. One hit from it would crush the mini-con flat, and then they'd haul it back to the Nemesis by force. And even if it ran they would keep after it until it tired. Teleporters were powerful individuals, but even they were not gods. They had limits. He knew that from experience.

Ravage tensed and focused his attention on the ship. Starscream himself tensed when he heard the ship power up – and moments later its guns began to glow.

"Hah! You think those paltry weapons can stop me, beast?!" he hollered.

The black Canipid's narrowed optics went round. This wasn't Tag-Along's doing. Little fool didn't know how to activate a ship's power core, much less properly use its weapons. Frankly, neither did he. But now that the ship's vents were working he was catching the distinct tang of iron-rich blood, faint but detectable. There were _two_ targets on the ship, not just one.

The Seeker's hand went to the Armor on his chest – but the hand never met it. A brilliant emerald flash sent the Armada reeling as Starscream felt something barrel into him, claws and fangs digging into his chest. By the time his optics calibrated he felt the Armor wrenched off violently, and blinked in time to see a mottled green dog the size of a young calf growling and backing away, the Armor clasped in its jaws. It took him a moment to compute what had just happened.

"What – You – _Give that back!_ " he shrieked.

The dog, Tag-Along, growled, audials flat. He continued to back towards the ship.

"Orders, Commander?" another Armada soldier asked.

" _Shoot it_!" he spat. "No one steals from me!"

The Armada opened fire on the mini-con beast just as the guns began to blaze. Two were struck down by heavy plasma blasts before their shots even reached the ship. The rest transformed and took to the skies with their officer. Starscream, offended, targeted the mini-con alongside Ravage, but with him warping around with no foreseeable pattern it was hard to aim, much less hit him.

"Corner him! Corner him!" the Seeker screamed.

Gunfire peppered the ground, forcing Tag-Along back up under the ship. Ravage rushed to meet him, and the two hounds resumed their vicious fray. Tag-Along got some swipes in when the falling hatch-ramp distracted Ravage, and he forced him into the crook where it met the ground. The black hound didn't let that stop him, and lunged in time to offer a bash of his paw to the mottled green hound's jaw. The Armor was sent flying a few feet away to the right of the ramp. Stunned, Ravage pressed his advantage and leapt, pinning the smaller beast beneath him. He made to drive his fangs into his neck as Tag-Along's body began to glow, and was mere inches away when –

 _CHANG_!

A small stone, a pebbly really, struck Ravage on the side of his helm. He turned to see the human from the cave standing there, looking the worse for wear. Cuts and bruises dotted her tiny, fleshy limbs – one cut in particular was just under her lip, and another was by her darkened brow. Her eyes were as serious as a hunter's in the grip of the frenzy. At her side were clenched fists.

Tag-Along exploited this brief moment of hesitation on his part and warped away into the ship. When he returned, the Armor was missing from his jaws. He issued a bark in the girl's direction and she scampered back inside, yelping as gunfire pelted the ramp. Starscream and his Armada honed in on the opening to the ship and dove for it like mad hawks. Starscream made it inside with two Armada soldiers, the rest continuing to bombard the ship. He made to surge after the girl to protect her, but Ravage knocked him to the ground before he reached the ramp. Once more was the smaller beast pinned, and once more Ravage lunged for his neck – and succeeded this time around.

His victory, however, was short-lived.

He was about to gouge the smaller beast's belly open when a trooper was sent careening down the ramp to impact him, forcing him off his prey and trapping him beneath it. Worse, one of the fliers was downed by another shot from the ship. Tag-Along disappeared inside the ship, and the remaining soldiers were tossed out as if by a titan. Starscream followed moments later, Tag-Along clamping down on the Seeker's wing as if rabid, his body already heavily dented from what looked like...fists. His neck leaked aquamarine.

Ravage snarled and struggled free as the still-functioning soldiers rose with him. The Seeker did manage to dislodge his attacker and once more made for ship's interior. The Apex Armor rushed out to greet him like it was possessed. What happened next he could barely fathom: the girl from the caverns, outfitted with the Armor, proceeded to make short work of his allies through skillful use of martial arts. Some were thrown, some where pounded into the dirt. One had his wing torn clean off. Ravage simply stood there while it happened, shocked, impressed, and wrathful that such a tiny creature could best creatures so much bigger and better trained than her.

Wrath took over. He charged at the Armor and leapt – but two hands caught him in a vice grip. He struggled to no avail.

" _Don't_ think for one second that I _won't_ do what I did to Hardshell, Fido." she hissed. "Stay _away_ from my friends if you know what's good for you. All I have to do is _squeeze_."

Ravage tensed when she made good on her threat, but he kept his pained whine inside. Pressure began to build on his sides as her hands tightened around him. Proud as he was, he knew when he was facing tough prey – prey too tough for him to take down on his own. And with the kid not answering his comm. link and the Armada ready to flee...

Snarling in rage, he bowed his helm in surrender.

"What are you doing, beast? Fight back!" Starscream snapped.

But Ravage's helm remained bowed. Humiliation burned through his body. Predacon society demand you show submission and respect to those stronger than you, and this girl was stronger than he'd ever thought possible.

"Same goes for you, yellow-belly!" came the retorting threat. "Get out of here before I send all of you to the scrapheap!"

Holding his side and spitting a curse at her, Starscream transformed and took off with the troops who could still move. The rest simply lay there, battered and broken. Ravage felt the girl's grip loosen and she put him down. She warned him to "walk away and never come back."

Audials flat, he did as asked, running off in the direction of the fleeing fliers. They may have lost Tag-Along, but they had others just as valuable waiting for them on the warship – others who were not treacherous cowards, and another, a Draconian femme, would soon be healed and ready for battle once they extricated her. And they still had more fossils to secure. While the foolish Grimwing and his Autobot allies scrambled to keep up with their movements they would be busy amassing their army.

At her feet, Tag-Along issued three loud bays that reverberated across the hills despite his neck wounds. A howl followed suit. That had felt...refreshing.

"Come on. Let's go get the others."

He bobbed his helm in answer. She led him back inside the ship.

* * *

Ramhorn and his pack mates had led the Wreckers into the deepest section of the mine. Now, they were busy collecting just a portion of the stockpile the little creatures had been guarding for so long, the crystals gathered in small carts and mounds. They had made it plain to them they were only to take what they needed to help their wounded, nothing more. Each was still loyal to the Decepticons, so they could not relinquish the mine to them unless they wanted lethal repercussions. They could explain away the attack to Megatron as simple territorial behavior – but not surrendering the mine. There _were_ limits.

"But..." Catscratch hinted. "You guys ever need a little, I'm sure we could find a way te smuggle some without getting them blighters suspicious..." She winked.

Bulkhead blinked. He still didn't get these guys. They followed the 'Cons but they were willing to help them? They were more like double agents than actual loyal 'Cons.

"That's...nice of you." he managed.

The feline femme shrugged. "Not like we'll burn through all this. We do nae need as much as ye, and we'll make sure the 'Cons do nae get greedy. We could spare some if ye need it much."

Moonhowler's audials pricked up then. He let out a raspy bark and growled. If Magnus's mental map of the mine was accurate, the growl was directed at the collapsed chamber where the Draconian lay buried. The hound was signalling trouble.

"We got company." Catscratch clarified. "Yer friend is waking. Ye need te move."

Magnus nodded. He opened a channel back to the hangar, requesting a groundbridge to their location. The 'Cons already knew they were here – it wasn't as if using a 'bridge to transport the Seelies' generous gift would draw any more attention. Precious time would be lost hauling it back to the surface and the ship.

A portal roared open in the center of the chamber; he swore he heard Wheeljack snicker when Catscratch yowled in surprise and darted behind Bulkhead's pedes, hissing at the portal. The old Commander almost smiled himself. They really were isolated out here if the sight of a groundbridge could startle them. One by one the two small carts were taken into the portal, the Seelies standing guard in the chamber with audials on he swivel for trouble. It wasn't much by any means, but it would stabilize their dwindling stores for a time, and the feline femme had hinted they might smuggle more their way. A rebel that one – but she was a rebel he could appreciate rather than scorn. Out of the group, she might make the most reliable double agent – something to discuss further with Prowl and Infernus when they returned. Having a double agent could prove invaluable to them.

Ironic, he mused, that one so small might be the one to tip the scales in their favor.

The three mechs returned from the drop-off, ensuring the carts were placed back in their original positions, and the portal snapped shut behind them. Moonhowler issued another raspy bay, but this one sounded lighter. The mechs were about to draw their weapons when Catscratch smiled.

"I think yer ride's 'ere."

Even underground Magnus heard the distinctive roaring rumble of his ship. Odd. He hadn't called it, and Miko was too small to reach the controls – and he would never believe Predacons as isolated as the Seelies knew how to fly a modern vessel, for Tag-Along had yet to return to the mine. Unless...had an enemy managed to breach it? The mini-cons didn't seem to think so. Either this was a double cross or else they knew through their senses it was manned by an ally.

He almost jumped when an emerald flash occurred, revealing Tag-Along standing there with a vicious-looking neck wound, but he barely seemed to pay it any mind. He barked once, and jerked his helm towards the exit tunnel.

* _Lass's waiting fer the three o' ye. Hurry!_ *

Bulkhead seemed reluctant to the leave the little ones for the 'Cons, but each stood their ground with brave faces.

"Go!" Catscratch ordered. "Do nae let 'em bring back Scorchmark!"

Ultra Magnus left in a whirl. Time could not be wasted. But his soldiers lingered.

"Stay safe, guys." Bulkhead well-wished.

The feline femme offered a wry smile. She assured him they would be fine. If they could handle a long-lasting civil war among their own kind they could handle re-integration.

"But how 'bout ye reign in on the explosive impulses, eh?" she said, aiming at Wheeljack. "Strategy would do ye some good."

The ivory Wrecker had the grace to wince. Cat had a point. That whole thing could've been planned better.

"Deal."

Transforming, the Wreckers raced after their Commander. A roaring scream echoed in the caverns, spurring their exit.

Though they did not turn to see, the Seelies stood together in the central chamber, strong and confident, their tiny bodies backed up against the walls.

* * *

Honestly, with all that had taken place on the isles, finding Miko in the Apex Armor aboard the Iron Will was not perhaps as startling as it might have been otherwise. Her piloting his vessel was easily explained away via her own word and the communications log _–_ she had simply asked for guidance from headquarters. That she had strategically thought to not contact them and potentially have their personal lines compromised was perhaps the most surprising part of her story. The young female was not one for strategy from what he knew of her.

She moved to the side after relinquishing the Armor, pouting a little that he wouldn't let her co-pilot. But he did give her the task of contacting base for a report on Knocknarea, though only once they were free of the Scottish mainland. It was not much of a wait, but the Commander was not willing to take undue recalled the girl, through Ramhorn, had mentioned a beast buried at that location: three-helmed and hot of temper. He did not right away remember such a beast, but he _had_ been more concerned with Scottish lore. He had not thought for a moment that the old burial mounds of the isles housed anything more than organic remains.

The line connected after self-encrypting, and the eldest young male's voice answered back.

" _Miko! You're okay, right?_ "

"Fine." the girl replied as her hand unconsciously covered one of her many cuts. "So you get anything?"

" _Yeah, actually. Knocknarea is an old burial mound on Ireland, thought to be a passage tomb, and the people there for some reason refuse to excavate it; some kind of superstition about it, but I couldn't find what. The other was harder, but there is a three-headed dragon in Celtic lore called the Ellén Trechend. It doesn't say that the thing is a dragon, but it definitely has three heads and it definitely ripped Ireland a new one in the past. Thing was only stopped when a poet-hero killed it. And_ _–"_

"That, right there." Miko interrupted. "Ramhorn and the guys mentioned something called the Dragon Hunts, where 'bots went around hunting Predacons. That's why they're mostly dead. It was sort of like a gigantic witch hunt: looks like a Pred, kill it with fire."

Ultra Magnus tossed her a look. That was something he hadn't connected right away. Many of the stories concerning dangerous beasts of lore involved them being slain by a hero of that culture, but there was no way an ancient human could slay a beast like a Draconian. It was more likely those "heroes" were Cybertronians, the humans reinterpreting them to better comprehend them. That would explain why so many of the beasts were now dead. Time hadn't killed them, nor had the elements or disease _– other Cybertronians had_.

" _Hm._ " Infernus mused. " _That...that adds up with some of what I've gotten from the other fossils. If I could get a reading off that thing's body..._ "

" _Prime._ " Grimwing's tone was one of warning.

The Prime fell silent.

" _Look, if they find it and bring it back, I'm doing it. I'm sorry. We need answers, Grim._ "

" _Can't we ask that Ramhorn person?_ " wondered Arcee. " _He's the one who tipped you off, right?_ "

"Can't, 'Cee." Bulkhead told her. "Ramhorn stayed behind. He and his pals are joinin' back up with the 'Cons."

In the silence that followed he could almost envision an uncomfortable tension in the air of the hangar. Having the enemy assist you and then double back to their old allegiance could be a terrible danger. He would have mentioned that the feline femme might be useful to them, but he wasn't willing to trust his encryption. There was, too, the looming risk of a patch. If Shockwave, Megatron, or Starscream was suspicious enough of them to perform one on any of the little ones, or on any one of the Prime's soldiers, valuable assets would be lost. Hopefully their loyal behavior (and explanations for their attacks) convinced them.

"Thank you for the information, Jackson." Magnus stated.

" _Er_ , y _ou're welcome. Sir._ "

He nodded unconscious approval and cut the line. Ireland was fast approaching, and there was no sign of enemy movement. Had they arrived first?

* * *

 _KNOCKNAREA, IRELAND  
_ _Local Time: 5:45 P.M._

The one unfortunate thing about the humans not excavating the colossal mound was that their efforts to unearth the fossil could cause an uproar. Without Tag-Along to covertly give them entrance, the most he and his soldiers could do was try to keep the damage to the site at a minimum and have Fowler later discuss the importance of the disruption with European intelligence. With it beginning to grow dark, there were fewer natives roaming the island's wilderness but they retained disguise to be certain. Of course, the ship could not be so easily disguised...

Jackson's mentioning it as being a potential passage tomb proved fruitful. A simple geologic scan revealed its true nature, and the hidden entrance. A weak grenade, more sensibly aimed, exposed the narrow passage at the base of the hill – too small for their titanic forms to fit. But there was someone with them who was small enough to gain entry. Perhaps Miko stowing away was not so problematic as he had originally assumed.

He glanced down at the female native.

"Miko –" he started.

She smirked: "Way ahead of you."

She darted ahead and into the passage. Bulkhead tried to move forward but Wheeljack arrested him.

"Let the kid work, Bulk. She can handle herself."

Bulkhead glowered at him silently. Wheeljack didn't blame him. He deserved that glare. He hadn't expected that one throw to go so disastrously wrong so fast.

Ultra Magnus said nothing. The tomb's main chamber was vast; once she was inside she could call for a groundbridge and have the remains retrieved. Perhaps a strategic move on the part of the builders: access to the body was no simple matter. Knowing how cautious the little creatures were now, he suspected that perhaps they might have had a guard stationed nearby in the past to keep them informed, or to keep away intruders. Jackson had mentioned the locals refused to excavate owing to a superstition, but he hadn't discovered the precise belief. Perhaps they no longer remembered why.

Within a few minutes Miko re-emerged, looking none the worse for wear. She seemed to be holding something behind her back.

"Okay." she said. "Good news and bad news."

The Commander had to resist a sigh.

"Bad first." Wheeljack grunted.

"No metal dragon skeleton. I think the 'Cons already got it."

A curse escaped Ultra Magnus. He should've known their luck wouldn't hold. With Shockwave able to find them with a mere signal activation they were lagging behind in this race.

"But...I do have some good news." she teased.

Three sets of blue optics focused on her. Smirking, she held up what might at first be mistaken for an oddly shaped stone. But the faint sheen underneath the dirt and the rust, caught by the final rays of the setting sun, suggested otherwise. The girl's smirk only grew broader.

"They didn't get the whole body this time."

* * *

 **Author's Note: GAH! So late! D: Probably because I spent most of last week-end buying and setting up a new laptop because hey, hey** – **the Dell finally quit on me. Barely lasted me three semesters. Three. Screw you Dell. I now have a schmancy new HP Omen and ooh I love it.  
**

 **I'll probably do a short little follow-up to this, just to tie up some loose ends and involve that plot point I hinted at. :)**


	31. Chapter 31: The Trickster Lantern

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 31

 _Note to Julian: I'm glad you enjoy this so much! Frankly, I have a lot of fun writing this series! As for Magnus...yeah, he's definitely got a pole up his rear end when it comes to following protocol, and he and Wheeljack understandably never got along in light of that. And it's not that he's "trusting easily" per say. He's more the type to think of the purely tactical applications of warfare, not the emotional aspect. He doesn't "trust" the Seelies_ – _but as a tactician, you take advantage of turncoats whenever you can to even the playing field. Remember: it's one thing to serve a cause, and it's another thing to believe in it. The Seelies are merely serving._

 _*And introducing a new OC Predacon: Spritelight!_

 _*Note: Time difference between Scotland and Nevada is pretty intense._

* * *

Living thunder rumbled through the mine, a mighty pounding of sound stressed by a piercing screeching loud enough to wake even the Old One. Again the scream of rage rang within the cold stone walls. So powerful was the thundering scream that the mine trembled at the noise, isolated rains of fine stone and debris unable to take the audial punishment. The support beams, carefully maintained over the centuries by its tiny pit crew, seemed to groan in protest and bend forward in submission. A heavy metallic rumble and clank of paw and talon foretold of the incoming creature, mad with the hunter's frenzy. The brazen creature bounded ahead, sure of its direction, though it could no longer see the world around it. It had had enough of battle-tricks. It wanted revenge. It wanted blood. It wanted that little black she-devil of a Felioid ripped apart. It wanted that conniving white mech gutted and burnt blacker than her smooth armor. There was no chance of that, however – the white mech's scent had faded into the distance as he and his tribe mates had fled. Typical it thought cynically. That had been the tactic the last time the white mech had attacked. But it could smell that horrid little black she-devil in what must be the mine's spark chamber, strong and sweet with wet turf and sour with the stench of the bogs. It was not a smell it found pleasing. It would relish removing that odor from existence – relish every moment of it.

Screaming, it stormed into the chamber where the scent was strongest, its massive body and spread wings blocking easy egress.

Through cracked optics it saw them. Standing there in a small heat-huddle was the black she-devil and her tribe mates, one of whom, a scraggly and scarred hound, issued a frightened whine and backed away, tail down. Mercy, it begged. Clemency. But it would not accept the show of meek submission so easily. A lesson needed to be taught to the little ones for their misbehavior. They were not the ones in control – it was. Rearing back, it slammed its paws against the stone beneath it and let out a scream louder than any it had managed before now, wings out as far as they would go and their dark amber mesh displayed. The little ones did not flinch save for their scraggly companion, who sank onto his paws and laid his helm down in further submission, ever whining for pity and mercy. But one was not enough. The hound had not been the one to attack it and render it blind. Fire bubbled up its neck, collecting in the back of its throat. It kept it there, waiting. The mottled green hound, the place-changer, mimicked his friend's honor-bow. The strange horned creature bowed its own helm and bent one leg forward in its own bow. The she-devil, however, did not follow suite. She would not heed the lesson. But as its throat grew hotter and hotter from its fire, as it readied to spew it and scald her black armor blacker, it heard the she-devil hiss, growl – and she bowed at last.

The fire receded. It snorted. But it would not forgive their insult so easily.

" _We meant nae harm_ ," the scraggly hound pleaded in his pathetic whine. " _We acted in innocence! Oor task is te protect this horde! We did so. Mercy, we beg of ye! The moderns wood have skinned us if we refused te help!_ "

It growled: " _Weak-will is not a trait smiled upon._ "

The she-devil hissed back that the hound was no warrior. He had been aloof from battle, from others, for so long he had forgotten basic etiquette. He did nae need te pick on him for it! Draconians – peh! she snorted. His kind were all the same! Always so high and mighty! Her helm shook to and fro in rapid movements as if to shake something off.

It snorted again. It did not like this she-devil, but it admired her vinegar glossa, and she certainly knew how to fling insults with it. Though that last quality could use tempering or that glossa could lead to trouble with Lord Megatron and his subordinates.

The burly horned beast stepped forward.

" _We wish to report in, arms-brother._ "

Growling, it began to pace. This was not a decision it was supposed to be making. Decisions of troop integration needed to be dealt with by the alpha, Lord Megatron. It had no means to contact him; the privilege had not yet been granted to it. It paused in realization. The soldiers outside did. Each had the frequency of every high-ranked officer, and it could smell them just outside the mine. The soldiers could relay that request. By the time Soundwave or the shadow-beast sent for them, the problem of integration could be resolved and a great deal of trouble spared. Yes, that would please Lord Megatron. And Ravage.

" _Come._ "

Turning sharply, it plodded out towards the open skies that lay above. Behind, it could hear the light steps of the little ones trailing after it, keeping their distance. The she-devil kept up a rumbling growl that rose and lowered in pitch the entire way to the surface. She did not like it – well, it did not like her, either. They were even.

* * *

Not all of the troops had escaped their confrontation in one piece, and none had escaped alive. Screeching, it slunk forward to investigate the helmless corpse of one, its shattered optics discerning Energon leaking out of the space its helm had once occupied. In the clean severance it saw the mark of the White Coward. How was it to contact its alpha now with its links dead? Mid-step, it paused. Ravage – Ravage had the alpha's frequency, and that of the One Who Never Spoke. Ravage could relay the message. It lifted its helm to scent the air, seeking its mentor. It found him...but the scent was distant, many klicks away. Why was he so distant? Had the green hound transported him to an inescapable trap?

* _Ravage?_ *

No answer. At least not immediately.

* _What_.*

It was not a question. He sounded displeased, and yet the displeasure, it sensed, was not aimed explicitly at it.

* _Could you contact Lord Megatron? The little ones wish to reintegrate, and the officers here are offline._ *

Ravage growled on the other end, * _They do, do they? Even after they attacked us both they have the gall to ask for an armistice?_ *

* _They told me they were merely obeying orders: protect the mine from intruders. It seems they interpreted that order broadly._ *

Another growl, * _They did not attack the Wreckers. Their story reeks of falsehoods._ *

No, it explained. The grey hound had said they had been under coercion. If they had attacked them they would have been butchered. The grey hound was a whimpering coward but he had seemed honest in his pleas for mercy and in his explanation. Was it not right to invite brothers and sisters back into the pack after being wronged by the enemy?

A final growl.

* _Fine,_ * conceded Ravage, * _b_ _ut Lord Megatron will want to be certain of their loyalty. There are troops near your location. Soundwave will send a groundbridge for you. Sending coordinates._ *

Before it could thank him, Ravage cut the line. He was upset over something, that much it could tell from words alone. But Ravage prided himself on emotional neutrality, for too much emotion was a bad trait in a hunter. What could have possibly triggered him to forgo that trait? Hissing, it scraped a clawed limb into the soft stone. It wanted back on the dark flying den where things made sense, but without sight and with it growing dark, travel could prove difficult – and it doubted the she-devil or the green hound would take acute pleasure in playing guide or simply transporting it and them to the site. Flight direct to the flying den would prove too dangerous; it could smell a thunderstorm coming. The coordinates Ravage had provided were due south, over the bluffs, and near the shore of an enclosed body of water, roughly twenty klicks away. Might as well start moving.

* _This way._ *

Little ones in tow, it headed off into the bluffs as the alien sunlight fled.

The she-devil was still growling.

* * *

The trooper cringed again at the unholy shriek of the bird, apply named Screech, perched on the stone nearby. There was no easy way to describe the sound, but the closest he could get was the yowling of a hundred wounded cats, nails scraping on a chalkboard, the wail of a bond mate just after severance, and a low cooing noise. It was horrible, and it made his audials wither each time it shrieked. The bird itself was a mixture of dark teals, sickly greens, gunmetal grey, and black, looking like...well, kind of like an over-sized, marginally ill raven maybe, a shorter version of a heron's neck, and had an impressive plume on its helm. The beast itself wasn't even that large, a real runt compared to the Draconian.

Why Lord Megatron would want this screaming, miniature creature on the Nemesis he didn't understand, but Shockwave insisted the beast was his and was valuable. He had to wonder if her value outweighed her drawbacks. The beast would give everyone a migraine before it was ever deployed into the field. If Lord Megatron wanted to remove the Autobots then all he had to do in his opinion was stick her in their base.

"Could someone get the sick pigeon to zip it?" grumbled another trooper, watching for movement with five others. "It's giving me a processor ache."

To which Screech replied with another of her shrill, hoarse namesakes, plume rising in a threat display. Another trooper snickered.

"Glitch doesn't like you, dimwatt."

The trooper jumped back when Screech shrieked again, adding a threatening flare of her wings and snapping.

"Maybe if we stop trying to frag it off it'll be quiet?" he suggested through a cringe. "Remember, they're not just animals. They can talk and they can understand us."

"Sympathizer with the beasts, huh?" ridiculed the name-calling trooper.

"No," he insisted, "but flinging insults isn't going to get it to shut up. You want it to shut up, then just be quiet. And if Ravage finds out you were name tossing, you'll be dead before morning."

The other trooper grumbled but decided to heed the advice. He thought, after roughly a breem had passed, that perhaps his idea had done the trick. Screech seemed to quiet down, her namesakes fading into a rumbling, high-pitched purr sort of noise. Everyone air cycled that much easier. But then, right when they were all starting to relax a little, the bird let out another of her Primus-awful shrieks. Taking wing, she flew over to perch on his helm. He froze, terrified of what might happen if he had the nerve to move. She just wanted a vantage point, he assured himself, that was all. Shockwave _had_ mentioned for their benefit that Avioids preferred high ground. That was how they'd tracked her down: she'd been up in a tree. Watching them. Screech shrieked again, talons shifting. He did his best not to wince as they dug into his plating. Funny, he thought, that she was facing out towards the bluffs behind him. There was nothing out there but damp dirt. Dare he turn to see what it was that had captured her attention?

"Look!" exclaimed a trooper.

A murmur of shock swept through his fellow soldiers. There was something out there, something Screech didn't like and put his fellow soldiers on edge.

"It's not on scanners..." muttered another. "The Pit?"

He tensed. That wasn't reassuring. There was something out there, and yet it wasn't appearing on a scan? That was like saying a cloaker was visible while cloaked.

Screech shifted again, tugging at his helm. He got the message (he hoped he did anyway) and turned. Screech didn't claw so he must've read her actions right. His confusion soon matched the others. What he saw made no sense.

Dancing on the horizon in a strange, jerking, swirling waltz was a sphere-like, pale teal light. As he watched, another joined it maybe a klick away from the first. Within the breem there were a total of three shimmering lights all dancing in their own way. The tension among his fellow troops was near a fever point by then. One even began muttering an old protection oath from Kalis. He'd never really believed the old superstition that a violent death made it a difficult for the dead to return to home, and he'd never seen a frame-less spark and yet...the appearance alone _–_ they _looked_ like sparks. But if they were then wouldn't their energy show up on scans? Before anyone could panic further, though, the little lights stopped their dances and faded like dying embers, and Screech quieted again. Tension he hadn't recognized faded, but part of him was sad to see them go. They hadn't acted hostile, and their dances had almost made him smile despite the tension and fear.

The bluffs remained dark for only a short time though. Soon enough, Screech shrieked again when a light, a new light colored pale yellow, began dancing on the horizon. Something about its dance was different, though he couldn't put his digit on what exactly. It was something in the way it moved.

"Scan it!" he barked.

The trooper with the scanner did so, uttering an oath when he got a hit off it. It was a real spark signal!

"After it!" cried the name-calling trooper. "It's an intruder!"

He broke into a run. Screech shrieked again. The light seemed to wobble in answer, like it was startled or hurt, but it recovered so quick he swore he'd only imagined it. The bobbing dance resumed.

"Spite! Get back here!" he hollered. "That's an order!"

Spite ignored him. He ordered him back again, but his orders fell on malfunctioning audials. Within the breem he had vanished over the nearest bluff.

He growled. Idiot.

* * *

Spite didn't understand why the others weren't going after the light. It had a spark signal _–_ therefore it was one of their kind and could be an Autobot trying to spy on their movements. Lord Megatron would be displeased if any of the remains or creatures here fell into the wrong hands. If this Cybertronian were a spy, and he assumed it was, they needed to be dealt with. Quickly. So he kept following the light, over bluff after bluff. This thing was not getting away to report back to whoever it worked for. He got within a klick or so of it. But, no matter how hard he gunned his engine, the light never really seemed to get any nearer, like its speed canceled out his. Somehow. Well, something interesting to report to Shockwave _–_ whatever or whoever was making the light, it wasn't as concerned about burning its reserves to stay ahead as the Autobot resistance was. One light meant one individual, and it could mean another cycle-former like that Autobot glitch. Another Exodus survivor maybe? If he could capture one of _those_ that could get him a major promotion.

Then he wouldn't have that sucker Killzone telling him what to do.

He shot towards another bluff. The light was so close, seemed to have stopped just atop the next bluff. Just a little faster!

He shot forward, relishing the sensation of flight for a brief few astroseconds. He hit the ground on the other side of the bluff. There it was, still doing that weird bobbing motion but staying where it was. He slowed. It looked like it was...waiting for him. Weird. He transformed, stalking forward. He drew his weapon. He thought through the bright pale yellow glow he could make two fainter lights of vibrant emerald. Now, this close, he could hear a strong buzzing noise.

The ground trembled beneath him.

The light cackled as the ground opened up beneath him and then laughed as he fell a good fifty feet into a pit. He tried to move, but couldn't. The buzzing, laughing light perched right on the edge of the pit. Through his fritzing sight and the bright glow he thought he saw a tiny dragon. The buzzing started up again, and the glowing creature flew down to land on his chassis. He could see it better now. It wasn't big, but it looked like those annoying four-winged insects that flew around in seasonal swarms. Feathery antenna extended back from an insect-like helm merged with a Draconian's, iridescent dark blue-green mesh sparkling under the creature's own light _–_ and it wasn't just producing one big light he noticed. Its entire body was lined with light emitters, from its antenna tips to its wings to its blade-sporting tail, all glowing a pale yellow. Its mouth, opening, revealed a set of serrated daggers.

The creature spun. He felt something sharp dig into his neck cables. Stalking forward, the creature sank its fangs into the cables, a tube-like projection lapping up the leaking fuel from the open wound. He shuddered internally, revolted. Disgusting! The creature was feeding off him like some kind of sick butterfly! How could anyone think these beasts were intelligent? Warnings flashed in his processor of a foreign substance seeping into the wound, a depressant of some kind, slowing down his processor and nerve endings rapidly. Anesthetic was the identification just before it took full effect. At least, he thought as the world faded, he wouldn't have to feel the little beast licking his wound. That was gross.

So gross.

* * *

He had not fed for weeks. The last time _–_ well, that probably could've gone better he mused. Catching him had been easy enough _–_ moderns were a superstitious lot when it came to floating lights _–_ until he'd somehow managed to escape his trap, wounding him. He had modified his traps from then on out. But to taste warm, pre-processed Energon again at long last _–_ it was enough to make him give little squeaking chirps of pleasure, forcing his glossa deeper into the wound. He wanted all of it, right then, to gorge on the feast he'd caught. He could feel his strength returning with each lap. He'd seen others like it not too far from here. Perhaps he could lure another...yes, that would last him for some time.

He pulled back after a final lap, wiping his snout clean with one of six paws. The prey remained unconscious. No, no, he scolded himself. A big haul like this moron had to be rationed. Onyx only knew when another one would stumble into his traps, 'cause more often than not he caught some of those tiny, squishy natives. If the fall didn't break their necks, he removed them, put them close to the nearest road or pasture so another squishy would find them and maybe, just maybe, warn their friends not to go after the "float-y lights." Their _lobhadh_ would foul up his traps, give them away to the real targets. But his systems alerted him again, droning that they were still running on only thirty percent power. Chirping, he began to lap up the leak again until nanites began to seal it. He pulled back again, cleaning his snout. The nanites would seal up the wound until he needed it open again. He moved to the other side of the neck, opening up another slit. More blue flowed out. Eagerly he lapped it up.

He would not let this prey escape. Fuel was scarce here, and he was not welcome by either of the warring packs. In that scenario, you took fuel wherever you could get it. Wasn't like it was _his_ fault that those fuel sources (and others) were dumb enough to fall for the same trick over and over again. That was their stupidity, not his.

But that stupidity, when it worked on the right target anyway, was beneficial. _He_ wasn't about to go out there and scream to the skies that a floating light was just a lure to catch dumb moderns.

* * *

It followed the coordinates Ravage had provided, fighting the homing instinct that would fly it straight into the storm on its way to the great flying den. It wished it could see properly _–_ the damage the she-devil had inflicted would need to be corrected for it to hunt at full capacity again. Hopefully the Red Wheel would not protest too much, or be too nervous around it to help. Compared to the screeching Grey Flier, the Red Wheel was kindness incarnate.

It screeched softly on spotting something on the horizon, tilting its helm to one side. Little lights, colorful but faint, flitted around in an unknown dance. Pinks and oranges and red and violets and greens swirled and skipped. They were beautiful, bizarre, fascinating. What were they? it wondered.

" _Púca..._ " growled the she-devil in a language it could not translate. " _We cannaet do anything for them. Dinnaet follow them._ "

" _Them?_ " it wondered.

The she-devil growled and refused to clarify their nature, merely saying to follow them was to become one of them in a tone that bordered on woeful. Though curiosity burned wild in its spark, now more than ever, it heeded her words. It passed them by, continuing on its ramrod heading. It could smell the troops now. But as they left the little lights behind it thought it could hear faint cries and weeping coming from them, and one or two growls.

* * *

 _Location: Area Fifty-One, Hangar E_

 _Exact Geographic Coordinates: Unavailable_

 _Local Time: 12:00 P.M._

He wasn't sure he liked that Onyx had put "hunting coding" in him. The Beast Prime had explained what it was at length, but all through the explanation all he could see were downsides. The most dangerous downside, Magnus's lesson on sensory multi-tasking, would be rendered moot the instant that stuff kicked in. He didn't see how it was useful unless you were a Predacon in the distant past, not a modern mech busy fighting a war that required far more processor power. He could get dog-piled easily. Way too easily. But Optimus had argued that Predacons were social hunters, much akin to Earth's lupine species, proved by archaeological evidence and Onyx's own testimony. To find one hunting alone, like Grimwing, was a rarity. And he would not be hunting alone, he argued with a soft chuckle. Ratchet would _never_ allow that.

He still didn't like it. That was too much assumption. What happened if he got isolated by the enemy? What if they cut him off? What then?

' _I am not telling you that will never happen, Smokescreen._ ' argued Optimus. ' _There will always be that possibility. Megatron's goal is to kill you. Isolating you would be the simplest means of accomplishing_ _that._ '

He almost jolted. Optimus was rarely ever that blunt. He'd never been one to _sugarcoat_ something but frag _–_ just to hear him _say_ it.

' _Onyx gave this to you to better your focus. To be distracted during battle is as dangerous, if not more so, as bearing a singular focus._ '

Dissatisfied, he emitted a low rumble tinged with a faint hiss. He glanced at Prowl. His older brother was, he knew, steering Arcee through the maelstrom that was an angry General Bryce and royally peeved Fowler over comm's. He suddenly envied Prowl's dispassionate, computeristic perception of the world. Sensibilities had never bothered him as much as they had him or Blue. If only he could hand him the hunting code so he could weigh it against how he'd been before, like what the art of the dog headed guy in the Egyptian tomb had been doing. Prowl could determine whether the risks outweighed the benefits. But you couldn't weigh coding. All he could do was describe the effects, and this sounded more like something to discuss with a fellow beast.

Like Grimwing.

He rose and slipped outside, where the Thunderbird himself was out on the tarmac sitting Indian style, in the darkness mirroring the night sky above onto a piece of old metal with some paint lent to him by Mr. Rowland. He didn't notice his approach. He stayed behind him for a moment, getting a quick look at his progress. Faintly painted behind the stars were forms he was unfamiliar with, matching none of the constellations he knew of.

"Hey, Grim?"

His helm jerked back. It was good to see his optics revealed at night when during the day they remained firmly hidden.

"Ah! My apologies. My attention was elsewhere, Prime. Is there something I can do for you?"

He shrugged, avoided the question. He asked if he could join him. Grimwing had qualms about it, but he was focused on him now, not the sky. Bright yellow orbs peered at him through the darkness.

"...Something troubles you."

He didn't deny it.

"How do you control it?" he wondered quietly.

Grimwing understood without any clarification. "As with any talent or skill _–_ through rigorous practice and acceptance. To fear one's nature is to fear oneself."

He glanced sharply at him, bewildered. How had he known he was afraid?

"Your plating is tense, your field is tight and constrained, your gaze uncertain." he explained with a smile. "You think that is not simplicity itself to read?"

He looked away, guilty.

"It is more productive to conquer fear than to run from it, Prime." Grimwing continued in that quiet voice of his. "To lack courage is to invite fear with open arms. Invite fear, and you invite weakness. Invite weakness, and the grave chill will take you."

' _We gave you courage, boy,_ ' Onyx growled. ' _Do not squander it._ '

He didn't have the spark to answer back. Grim was right. Onyx was right. But he was afraid of the hunting code, afraid of what it made him think and want to do, afraid of the risks it brought with it. In his honest opinion, a gift wasn't a real gift if it was two-faced and might pose a risk to allies he said. He didn't want to hurt anyone on his side, and certainly didn't want to think of anyone on the opposite team as a...food source. At that, comprehension dawned in the Thunderbird's gaze. A sympathetic smile blossomed. There was deep knowing in his yellow optics.

"Heed the words of my tribe then, Prime." he said. "Coyote is always out there waiting, and Coyote is always hungry. If you wish to defeat him, you must confront him, master him, tame him _–_ not run from him. Run, and he will always find you. Confront him, and he cannot run from you."

Cryptic, his words, and far from the straightforward advice of Optimus, but he thought he understood the message without needing a breakdown of it. Razorplume's warning to the Wreckers echoed in Grimwing's voice. "Coyote" was just Grimwing's way of understanding the same coding that had run rampant in Divebomb. He nodded. He didn't remove himself though. Being around the Thunderbird was somehow calming. That, and he wanted to be out in the open to hear the Iron Will's engine when it neared home. After Jack's call to update about some place called Knocknarea and a three-headed monster, they'd dipped back into radio silence. He hoped they were okay.

Smiling, Grimwing resumed his artwork. He didn't say a word, fearful of breaking his focus. Little by little, as another hour trickled by, the stars above came to life on the sheet of metal. Breathtaking, he mused, what he could create with just some spare paint and a piece of scrap metal. Another constellation slowly took shape behind a grouping of stars:a young man's head, two feathers extending from a band. A bow was added, and a quiver. Some of the constellation was familiar too _–_ parts of Orion the Hunter he could make out. Curiosity built. Were these Navajo constellations? Cool.

"What constellation is that?" he wondered.

" _Átsé Ets'ózí_ , the Son." Grimwing said. "He is young, a new-blood, but a warrior and protects his people."

The smile he gave him didn't take much interpretation. In him, Grim saw this young guardian hunter.

"Can you show me another?"

"Of course."

He set to work again. Dot by dot another grouping of stars formed. Behind them was added a ghostly image of a young man, quiver on his back and also wearing feathers. A partner soon joined him: he looked the same in appearance, but bore no weapons. Instead, he had a sash and a belt from which hung small pouches, each a faint star. He waited until the work was done to ask who they were.

" _Naayéé' Neizghání dóó Tóbájíshchíní_ ," came Grimwing's answer, bewildering him completely. "The Hero Twins, Monster Slayer and Born for Water. One is a mighty hunter and slayer of evil creatures that plague the world, the other a gentle healer. They knew violence, but also compassion. You are both Twins, Prime. You are a hunter, a warrior, but are too a healer. Their father was the Sun, their mother Changing Woman."

Something clicked in his processor. Certain words lit up in a pattern. Miko's words came back to him: " _...something called the Dragon Hunts..._ "

"Grim..."

"Yes?"

"Who told you this?"

"The story-tellers of my tribe."

He pressed further, "And where did they hear it?"

Grimwing proved unable to provide an answer. He admitted these stories had been passed down for many, many generations before he had ever been adopted by the Navajo people. He had simply recorded them as a show of gratitude and to preserve them for the future, to teach others their lessons. He had taken the fantastical tales as their mythology owing to impossibilities like a star giving birth to a human child, or a girl growing from infant to adult in mere days. Symbolism hung heavy in their stories; it always had.

"Have you ever heard of the Dragon Hunts?"

Grimwing confessed to know nothing of them. He had lived in relative isolation for thousands of years. The only hunts he knew of were those conducted by his tribe's hunters, or those of the Europeans, and those were centered on the local fauna. What, pray tell, did _he_ know of these Dragon Hunts?

"Not a lot," he admitted. "But thanks to Miko, and now you, I'm starting to get an ugly picture of what they were."

The loud roar of an engine met his audials then, faint and growing louder by the minute. He turned east. Out in the distance a set of lights approached, fast and loud like a semi coming in to land. He rose as the Iron Will slowed and headed for the hangar where it sheltered. Transforming, he bolted after it, leaving Grimwing to think over his words and continue his art project. He skidded to a stop just on the threshold of the hangar. The hatch ramp came down to meet him. Inside, he heard four sets of thuds: three heavy, one a faint pitter-patter of shoes, coming in a sprint. Air escaped his neck vents, only then realizing he'd been halting his fans. Miko was okay then, thank the Allspark. Ultra Magnus came out first, looking battered and dusty but none the worse for wear, and holding the _–_ _no_. They'd got the Apex Armor back?! Wheeljack followed him in a similar state. Miko _had_ mentioned something about a cave collapse. That he wanted to know the cause of. Bulkhead followed just behind him, looking much better but still having a few scrapes and dings on him, some of which looked like claw marks, but he almost jerked back and cried out on noting that one side of his face was hideously clawed and his audial was a sparking wreck. He swapped modes. He rushed forward.

"Bulkhead!"

He examined what was left of the audial receptor and the comm. link embedded within, careful not to touch it. Concern warred with fury. Ratchet needed to see this. This was ugly.

"What did this?"

"What's black and red and rabid all over?" hinted Bulkhead.

"The Gwyllgi..." he snarled.

From over his shoulder he saw Miko come down the ramp, walking with a smug swagger in her step instead of running, something held behind her back. He didn't care about that as much as the two dozen cuts and bruises on her arms, legs, and face.

Oh, June was gonna kill. Kill him, revive him with Dark Energon, and kill him again for good measure. No way was she avoiding a visit to the resident human nurse with all those wounds. The on-site clinic was closed at this hour. Oh, he was _so_ dead! Worse than dead!

' _Ms. Darby may be upset, but she lacks the capacity to deal you any harm_.' Optimus reminded him.

' _Don't ruin my panic! She'll find a way! Trust me!_ '

He rushed forward to check on her, holding a hand out for her to climb into. She did so, persistently keeping the thing behind her back out of easy sight.

"You okay?" he wondered.

She snorted at him, insisting it wasn't as bad as it looked. "Besides," she continued. "I got a present for ya!"

The thing behind her back was revealed. He let his jaw drop. It was soiled with dirt, covered in rust, and only a fragment _–_ but that she had it at all!

"Is that what I think it is?"

Her fierce grin made him grin back. She didn't even seem to realize she was injured.

"Meet what's left of Scorchmark, better known as the _Ellén Trechend_. 'Cons got the rest of it, but they were sloppy this time. Left some bits and pieces behind. Tah-dah! Your present! Well, this and the Armor."

She held it up to him, grinning, but he refused the gift.

"You hang on to it for now, Wrecker. I don't wanna lock up on you." He turned to address the Wreckers: "You guys head back to the hangar. I gotta get Miko to a healer. And hope said doesn't healer order Ratchet to de-limb me."

Magnus nodded, a touch of sympathy in his tight field as he walked by.

Her arm retracted as her eyes rolled. Unwilling to put her down (and not trusting she wouldn't run off it he did) he placed the little Wrecker onto his pauldron and began the walk towards the barracks where June and her son were staying. Something in the air felt...different now though. There was a heat that hadn't been there before, like the air around him was smoldering at a low broil.

' _...What is that?_ '

Uneasiness pounded in the Matrix. Optimus refused to answer. That...didn't bode well.

The look Grimwing gave him as he passed was anything but cheerful when he spotted Miko's present.

* _Prime.._.* he warned.

* _I know, I know._ * he said. * _I'll wait a while before I try anything with it._ *

* _Good._ *

He kept moving.

* * *

 _Decepticon Warship: Nemesis_

 _Time: Unknown_

 _Location: Unknown_

It paced in the flight bays, growling. It wished Ravage would feed updates on the interrogation and debriefing of the little ones. It wished it could hear through the ship and into the chamber where the little ones were. As much as it did not like them, a part of it hoped they came to no serious harm. Lord Megatron valued loyalty, and if he gleaned even a whiff of disloyalty the offender was dealt with swiftly and completely. At least according to the soldier busy washing the mud and dust from its body. This soldier, Killzone, was not like the rest. He did not fear it to the extent of the others, and it had treated the howling bird with more courtesy than the others at the site. That was not to say he was still rough and uncouth like the other soldiers, for he still bore a bias, but he seemed to understand it was an individual, not a mindless attack drone. He even, perhaps, understood it to a certain degree.

More mud was washed away.

"Would you hold still?" the trooper scolded. "Pit, you'd think your trods were on fire."

It stopped pacing.

"I'd take you straight to the doc, but he'd throw a fit if you walked into his lab all grime-y." said Killzone. "Pit, he'd do that if you walked all over the ship, even here. Same goes for anyone. Only Lord Megatron can get away with it." He laughed. "You should've seen the doc when he came back from the East Coast _–_ all battered and scuffed up, throwing a fit over it."

It screeched curiously. Why did he care so much about his appearance? It did not understand. Appearance did not help with the hunt.

"Eh, it's a quirk with him." mused Killzone. "It's not all bad. You learn to live with it. Besides, you never really want for armor polish with him around."

The last of the mud and dust came off. It wanted suddenly for him to give the she-devil a washing. Maybe it would get the smell of the bogs off her.

"There you go. I'll get Knockout in here."

It screeched its thanks. How it wished to speak to him, properly thank him. Ravage's lessons could not conclude fast enough.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Sorry this is a bit short, but this is a "tying up loose ends" chapter, not a main one.**

 _Note for Julien: Optimus is going to be appearing more often. I realize I've kinda been side-lining him. :P But there is the thing that, as he gets more used to his role, the Thirteen aren't going to be quite as "chatty" to him. Like Optimus said, he helps when he's needed, but he'd prefer if Smokescreen take initiative and do some of this stuff without him if it's simple and straightforward.  
_


	32. Chapter 32: Trail of Fire

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 32

* * *

 _Bzzzzz_

 _BzzZzz_

 _BZZzzzZz_

Groggy from sleep, her eyes opened to the sound her ears had picked up. Her phone lay on a small bedside table and was busy having its vibrating seizures. Her hand mechanically reached out to snatch it. One miss later and the phone was in her hand. There was one missed call – from Infernus? She hit the button to return the call even as she heard the door to the on-site house open. Her brain started waking up at that. The rest of her body was refusing to follow suit. Blinking and wincing at the belligerent light of the screen, she held it up to her ear and sat up in the bed. At least now the light wasn't on her face.

"Infernus?" she wondered. "What is it?"

"... _Please don't kill me._ "

She blinked. "What?"

" _Please don't kill me._ "

She'd been woken up by bizarre requests a few times in her life, the most common lately being "Please don't freak out," and "I can explain." This one had to fall into her top three. Smokescreen had always been wary around her ever since his "adventure" with Jack into a dangerous situation, but she'd eventually let her nettled attitude subside once he'd proven himself capable of learning from mistakes. Once she'd gotten to know him a little better she'd realized he was a typical teenager in the way he'd behaved: eager to please, somewhat rebellious, and more often than not operated on impulse – except, of course, for the obvious difference of the teenager being a good twenty feet tall, now even taller after undergoing a forced modification.

So why the sudden reversion back to skittishness? she wondered.

Her answer walked in through the darkened barracks: Miko. At first, she didn't see anything wrong other than the girl holding one hand over her left arm, her posture subdued. As her eyes readjusted to the dark, however, she began to notice dark splotches on her exposed skin. Heart racing as her mind recognized them, she flipped on the light on the end table to get a better look. Her heart jumped. Revealed were over a dozen cuts and bruises all over her arms, legs, and face, her clothes dusty.

"It's...not as bad as it looks?" the girl managed.

Her mind and body woke up in an instant.

She flung the covers away and rushed forward. She looked her over. The cuts had scabbed over already, though the bruises appeared worse – large and dark, like something heavy had dropped on her or hit her. There was no sign of any broken bones, thankfully. But the dust – it brought back bad memories of a story Arcee had shared with her, from before she'd known of her real nature. Miko had been underground. That was obvious. She fought the urge to question where exactly she'd been and dove into the drawer of the nightstand where a cache of bandages, ointment, cotton balls, and a few small travel bottles of hydrogen peroxide were stored. She grabbed the cotton balls and the peroxide and rushed into the small bathroom, taking a cloth and wetting it, then return and set to work on the cut above her eye. Miko winced as the cold water and peroxide stung, tiny bubbles forming as the latter fluid did its job, but otherwise did not react.

"What happened?" she demanded.

"It's...uh...yeah...it's – it's involved?" the girl stammered. "Y'see, I..."

Her phone buzzed again, then went to speaker on its own.

" _It's my fault, Ms. Darby. I wasn't there to keep an optic on her, and...I only found out about it after it happened. She stowed away on Magnus's ship, went with them to the Isles. I was in El Paso with 'Bee, Arcee, and Blue and Soundwave was there and cut their comm's. I would've bridged in, or sent someone here to pick her up, but we're trying to stay below the 'Cons' radar. I'm sorry._ "

"Geez, it's okay!" Miko snorted. "Catscratch protected me when the cave came crashing down. And technically _that_ was 'Jackie's fault, not mine."

Her eyes widened as she kept dabbing the water and peroxide. Her injuries were from a _cave in_?!

Miko protested that "she was fine" and "it wasn't a big deal."

She shook her head, barely containing the surge of protective fury that was bubbling in her chest. At least someone had been there to shield her – Catscratch. If she ever got the chance, she owed this Catscratch some heartfelt thanks. Done with the peroxide treatment, she brought out the antibiotic ointment and the bandages. Some cuts were so insignificant that they didn't deserve more than a dab of ointment; others were treated and covered. Lucky the girl had had most of her skin covered and, from the looks of it, had kept the injuries from being exposed to contaminants. The bruises would need treatment, too. A handful of them looked almost purple. Those would start hurting badly if they weren't already.

Rising, she retreated to a mini-fridge, rummaged, and found an ice pack and a bottle of water, advising her to keep the pack on the largest of the bruises to help with pain and swelling. She then fished into her purse and found some over-the-counter pain killers, giving her two and the water bottle.

"No more 'excursions' for you. Not until you're healed up." she scolded.

The look she gave her was somewhere between contrite, annoyed, and exasperated.

" _Miko..._ " Infernus warned. " _Don't make me put a leash on you. Because I can and I will._ "

Her tongue stuck out at the phone on her end table.

" _Please, Miko. Just listen to her._ "

Something in his voice made her yield an inch. She groaned, rolled yer eyes, but promised not to go adventuring until she didn't look like a small, angry mountain had attacked her.

* * *

' _Smokescreen_ –'

He rolled his optics, "All due respect, Optimus, but don't start."

' _Then all I will say is that your panic was disproportionate to the danger posed._ "

He rolled his optic and stuck his glossa out in protest. When _he_ got threatened by an angry human femme after endangering her kid by accident, he wouldn't be saying "disproportionate" for very long. Screw protective femmes from home. June was _terr-i-fying_ when she was mad, and she could fit in his hand. In his hand! He was terrified of someone shorter than a mini-con! No weapons or armor either!

A pulse came – tinier, sprightly almost, yet highly intelligent and, while friendly, there was bite in it. ' _I believe Ms. Darby might be flattered that a being your size is cowed by her._ ' offered a new voice. ' _That or intensely amused._ '

' _Hey-hey!_ _And the munchkin finally speaks!_ ' laughed the Shifter. ' _Where ya been hangin', shorty?_ '

' _...Call me that again and I will hurt you._ '

' _Aw, you're so cute when you're-_ _OW! I didn't even say it!_ '

He relaxed when the older Prime chuckled. He smiled as a twinge of regret nipped at his spark. It wasn't fair, he thought, that no one except him would ever hear that sound under non-lethal circumstances. He could only be heard through the Matrix. It wasn't fair. But he felt the senior Prime smile as the Matrix pulsed softly. He had but to ask Arcee, Wheeljack, and Grimwing to prove that assumption incorrect. Confused, he said he'd ask. None of them had mentioned anything about him after their visits to the grave, and hadn't he said that leaving the Matrix was, like, a no-go?

He felt the Prime's smile grow broader. He had never said _that_ he insisted.

Speaking of the grave, he owed him a visit. But first, he needed to check on Blue. Though stable, he still hadn't onlined. He was getting worried. Maybe being there, like Mark being there for him, might help.

' _Your brother takes priority, Smokescreen._ '

Transforming, he pumped his tattered wings and made for the hangar. Funny though that the farther he got away from Miko, the less noticeable the low broil in the air became. A tension in his body he hadn't noticed faded too. Why – why would being around Miko make him nervous, adrenaline junkie behavior aside? She wasn't _dangerous_ to him, and yet that was how he'd reacted unconsciously. Someone in the Matrix pulsed their own agreement to the observation, a pulse he hadn't felt individually before. Warm, intelligent, casual, and bearing a playfulness akin to the Shifter's, there was an odd flanging of hot and cold in the pulse. It didn't completely fade either, like other pulses did. Weird.

' _Okay. You wanna talk or are you gonna lurk in the background like a creepy ghost stalker? 'Cause that's what you're makin' me feel right now: stalked._ '

In answer, a warm, gruff voice like a _Lord of the Rings_ dwarf answered back laughingly that he could talk in a moment. He was to see to his brother first. And the briefing.

He pushed it to the side-burner as he reached the hangar, swapping out of beast form to enter. Bluestreak was still lying on the berth, cycling air, but unconscious. He was stunned, honestly, on noticing that Raf was the one keeping an eye on Bluestreak's vitals through his laptop on the sofa. Or he thought he was. A closer look showed the boy was dead asleep, his heart rate slow and steady. Jack was with him on the chair, also out of it. Ratchet was off to the side tending to Bulkhead's ruptured audial while Magnus waited near at hand. On spotting him, he gave him a look that said "We need to talk" but it wasn't forceful. He flared a few glyphs at him in thanks, then turned to approach the berth. Blue looked the same as he had. Still no sign of him waking up. The Prime reached one hand to put on his sibling's arm. Warm. The readings showed no deviation, and he could still sense his spark.

"Come on, Blue...Wake up..." he muttered.

But he didn't.

"Please..."

Still nothing.

He left to speak with the Commander. He linked into Rafael's laptop just in case. To his surprise, Ultra Magnus motioned the nearby Prowl, Bumblebee, and even Ratchet out of the hangar. But not the Wreckers, nor did he wake up the sleeping Raf and Jack. He cocked a brow ridge at him. Magnus pulled him over to one side and explained himself in the most cryptic terms he'd heard him use.

"The Decepticons cannot patch a human, Prime, and this data cannot go beyond those who know it, or an acquaintance of ours could die. The simple truth is that the Decepticons hold no interest in humans, and they hold no interest in capturing you alive now you've become a Prime. However, they would hold interest in capturing Wreckers due to sensitive information we carry. In light of that, had we the means, I would not hesitate to transfer what we know to you through a cortical psychic patch, then perform mnemosurgery to remove what we know, leaving you the only holder."

He stared at him. Shock ripped through him better than the shrapnel had. "What?"

"We have a possible double agent, Prime."

He looked away from the medic's console and brought up an artist's rendition of a little black cat in various positions. Large ears, a scraggly coat, bushy, wispy tail, and wide blue eyes made it seem kitten-like – adorable. A single white splotch on its chest shone faintly. The internet revealed it was a fairy cat, viewed by the Celts as playful (they'd entertained it with a prominent festival) but dangerous (it stole souls apparently). If he was showing him this – the _sidhe cat_ – then that must mean... _this_ was the double agent, and it must be a Predacon. He resisted slapping himself physically, content to do it mentally. Miko had mentioned someone named "Catscratch" having protected her during the cave collapse. Wow. Pretty obvious name in hindsight. Regular 'Con-loyal beasts wouldn't have bothered to protect her – this one had. And yet, if Catscratch were a double agent, that meant she'd gone back to the 'Cons.

Why?

"They're loyal," Wheeljack grunted. "But that doesn't mean they like 'em."

Magnus took down the image. The pieces fit in. He couldn't help grinning.

"I have a kitty-cat spy. Sweeeet."

Magnus grabbed him. "Prime, it is vital that you understand this information must not go beyond my Wreckers and the humans. The fewer who are aware, the better their chances of survival."

"Uh...the Thirteen are exempt from that rule...right?"

"Yes."

' _Ah, good. Otherwise I would've felt like a horrible betrayer._ '

Maybe it was just Liege's unique way of speech coupled with his voice print, but something about that statement hadn't felt entirely sincere.

' _Says the schleezy traitor who orchestrated my murder._ ' Solus snapped back.

The gruff voice from outside butted in as kindly as he could, ' _Whoa-kay, you two, let's nae star_ –"

Liege purred back, ' _Darling, that was an accident! You know that. I would never_ –'

' _Was it though? Was it?_ '

He could almost imagine the Maker aiming her Forge to Liege the same way an angry human female might hold a gun to a cheating boyfriend. He pictured her expression somewhere between "Don't tempt me, moron," to "Legit give me _any_ reason."

"Can you two take your drama someplace else?" he growled. "If not, keep it in the background."

Three sets of optics stared at him. He stared back, revving his vocalizer in a way as forced and awkward as he felt. "Yeah. Sorry about that. Prime drama..."

"They have drama?" Bulkhead wondered.

He gave him an optic-roll, "Like you wouldn't believe."

Magnus gave him a wisp of a smile. He called the rest of the team back in.

* * *

He was starting to get irritated with Predacons. The damage to Bulkhead's audial and surrounding regions wasn't like standard wounds to that area. Normally such damages consisted of a blast site, caused by plasma shots or missiles, and fried ensuing and blasted circuitry, or a dent that needed pounding out, but working through the shredded tangle of sparking wires and persistent leaks was more hassle than trying to hijack Shockwave's chip signal. Some of the fine _e_ _fnx_ lines that comprised his wireless communication network were so badly shredded he couldn't salvage them. Not for the first time did he yearn for the complex set of tools and supplies a real clinic from home could provide, or a mini-con assistant for the finer repairs. Or both. Both would be fantastic.

But that wasn't possible when the universe was persistent about taking things away from you.

"Ping me. Let me see if the comm. link works."

The burly mech did as told. The ping came.

"Good. Next time, don't ping someone when there's a rabid Predacon within charging distance of you."

He released Bulkhead. His hearing would be marginally worse on that side, but at the very least the comm. link still functioned properly. He returned to his work on the chip. The process was slow, but with Shockwave there could be no mishaps. A field flared behind him gently, awkwardly. Infernus.

* _You okay, doc?_ *

He graced him a sideways glance to notice a strange expression on his faceplates. Was there a reason he was asking?

* _Yeah. I want you to take a break. You need it._ *

The old medic's ensuing sharp turn of the helm was coupled with surprise. This seemed...sudden. Or perhaps he'd misjudged how accurately he could read him through his acerbic impartiality.

* _You've been so busy you haven't had a chance to visit. You two were close. Go._ *

He appreciated the sentiment, and the concern for his emotional well-being, but they couldn't afford it until the chip –

* _Yes. You can. Go. Drowning yourself in your work isn't going to help._ *

Sighing, he abandoned the chip. He had to credit the youth – he was young and inexperienced, but he had the same kind nature as Orion and the same sharp optic for people. As a Prime, it was simply more noticeable. Or maybe Optimus himself had noticed and had alerted him to the emotional distress he'd though he'd handled and hidden. In wartime, death was common for a field medic – you grieved for a while, then moved on. Managing it in practice was never so easy, not when close friends were the ones you were grieving.

* _Go_. _Take as long as you need._ *

Infernus opened a 'bridge for him, nodding him through. The look on his faceplates – it almost spooked him. It was Infernus's young, angular faceplates, but his expression, his optics, that sad, understanding smile were all Orion's.

* * *

Thank Primus for Prowl she thought as she trudged back towards the sanctuary of the hangar, dorsal fins down. He knew how to word things right and he knew military protocol better than even the military people here did. That made up for him being a cold, impartial, pragmatic jackass the rest of the time. Without his help she might've done something regrettable to General Bryce. Fowler, strangely, had been the reasonable one in that talk. It was a broken door, not a blown up building, and removing the 'Con bodies was the priority. A jaw could be faked – media covered hoaxes like that all the time. Pumpjacks could be repaired. Dead Vehicons and Eradicons? Not so much. Clean-up crews were already dealing with that before the weekend finished and the workers came back.

She entered, thankful for the smile Infernus gave her from where he leaned on the wall, arms over his chest, and the chirping greeting of Bumblebee. Welcome change from a fragged off General. Her partner and Rafael were both asleep in the little lounge, one on the sofa with his laptop flickering on the table in front of him, the other leaning back in a chair. Her nettled plating smoothed out. Peace and quiet again at last.

"Remind me to _never_ kick down another door in my life, or trust _you_ in an oil field."

"Oh, c'mon! He's mad at you over _that_? He was less fragged at me over bringing Grimwing here!" (She was grateful he kept his voice down)

" _You're the one in_ _charge_ ," trilled the scout. " _Maybe he respects you more than he lets on. And maybe Bryce is a little bit sexist. Who knows?_ "

She made a face. Why gender was such a big deal with humans she would never understand.

"Anything new happen while I was out?"

"Do I count?"

She whirled to face the berth. Lying down, she almost hadn't noticed him. Bluestreak looked terrible but, like Infernus, was somehow able to smile that innocent smile of his through the pain. That seemed to be a shared trait with them. But in a move that made no sense, the young Prime seemed troubled. Maybe he'd already reacted and had moved on to other things. Or, worse, something was bothering him so thoroughly he couldn't appreciate the little win of his brother's survival. Over the span of a few quiet minutes, she spotted that he kept glancing in the hangar exit's general direction through fleet, almost reluctant turns of his neck, and then towards Prowl. His behavior was that of some soldiers during the war: he was anxious, stir-crazy. Wanted out but couldn't get out.

* _You okay?_ *

He didn't respond. Not instantly. What he answered with, in a tone that she wasn't used to hearing from him, made no sense to her: * _Something's up with Miko._ *

She cocked one brow ridge. Miko was the wild card who stowed away on personal ships and tried to pick fights with 'Cons. Of course there was "something up" with her. She was an adrenaline junkie.

He said that wasn't what he meant. The air around her, ever since she'd got back, felt like it –

Ratchet's console suddenly began blaring. Raf and Jack were up in an instant, their eyes bleary as their heads whirled to the console in a blind panic. Infernus dashes to the console.

"What? What's wrong?!" Jack demanded.

"Prime?!"

To hear the faintest tinge of panic in Prowl's voice was not reassuring.

Thuds from outside betrayed Grimwing's arrival. He was agitated, the warning lights on his wings flickering rapidly in bright red.

"It's Ratchet. He's –"

He rounded on the 'bridge controls, yanking the lever down before vanishing inside.

"What?! What's going on?" Raf demanded, his tone dangerously nervous. "Where's Ratchet?!"

Bumblebee forewent the console to pluck the boy off the sofa, holding him close. He told him in a low trill that he went to visit the grave. He refused to tell him any more. If he had, the news would only increase his pulse past the ridiculous rate it was already at.

"Prime?" Prowl demanded again into the console.

No answer came.

* * *

His spark flipped. He actually felt it flip inside its chamber at what he saw.

Ratchet.

On the ground.

The tips of his limbs greying.

He swapped one hand to a gun, the other to a blade. He scanned the skies, the ground. He could see no enemies, smell no foreign scents, hear no noise. He quickly stalked towards where the old medic lay on his backstrut, keeping his weapons out. He knelt. No wounds, but no spark signal either. His wrists and heel struts were busy greying, and yet the rest of him was still vibrant with color. There was something in the air, too – a strong tingle he could feel in his circuits.

Onyx. Onyx was the resident spirit expert. He would know what was going on.

"Onyx? Onyx, what's going on?"

No answer. The Matrix churned.

' _Calm, little ember. You have no need to panic._ '

Something snapped inside. Fire scalded his circuits.

"No need to panic?! NO NEED TO PANIC?! THE DOC IS LYING DEAD ON THE GROUND AND YOU'RE TELLING ME NOT TO PANIC?!"

He felt the benign deity retreat almost out of startled shyness or maybe even fear. The Thirteen still refused to speak up. Not knowing what else to do, he began gently shaking the medic's frame with his own shaking hands. No response. The grey slowly continued to inch up his limbs. Slag, he was starting to get a little too familiar with how Simba had felt in the _Lion King_.

"Doc! Come on! Wake up! Please!"

[Prime! Status!] Prowl barked. [Is Ratchet online?]

"I-I-I don't know! I don't know!"

[Prime, please try to remain coherent.] urged the Commander. [Are there any enemies in the vicinity?]

"No, no. I-I checked. He's not hurt either. I-It's like he just...keeled over or something."

Prowl demanded further details of his condition.

"Only the ends of his limbs are grey; rest of him's still in color, but the grey's spreading – slow, but spreading. No energy reading from him. And there's this weird buzz in the air?"

[Buzz?] Arcee repeated. [What do you mean?]

His spark flipped again when the grey licking at the medic's limbs began to recede. A hysterical, relieved cry came from the hangar: Raf. His signal was back online! Ratchet stirred soon after, groaning as he rose. He seemed unprepared for the look of relieved agonizing stress that met him, and was less prepared still for the embrace. The grey retreated to the internal song of the Matrix, its notes hopeful and loving yet filled with regret. The buzz wasn't gone but it was almost unnoticeable now.

"Thank Primus!" he gasped. "Don't scare me like that again! Your signal went offline and you nearly gave us all spark attacks! You nearly scared Raf to death! We though the 'Cons had found you and – and...and I found you lying dead on the ground, turning grey and I've been trying to get you to wake up for, like, easily three breams! What the frack happened?!"

Ratchet, disoriented and visibly dazed, said he wouldn't believe him if he told him. At that, he snorted.

"Seriously? Try me, old timer. You're talking to the guy who got turned into a dragon by a bunch of mechanical demigods and has said demigods stuck in his helm as we speak. Fracking. Try. Me," he paused to look around. "At the hangar."

He helped him up, requested a 'bridge from Raf, and led the medic on unsteady trods towards the portal.

"...You owe Raf an apology by the way. Big time."

To his surprise, Ratchet gave a short, raspy sort of chuckle – and agreed.

* * *

He refused to leave the medic's side as he sat, backstrut against the interior wall of the hangar. Grimwing lay curled up like a feathered cat close by, watching Ratchet closely. Nothing was more important than the large black hand that held him close to his chassis, letting him rest his head on the faded amber metal. Warm. Alive. The fright was still there, but the longer he stayed near him, the more he heard the steady pulse beneath the metal, the weaker it became. And the more exhausted he felt.

Ratchet was alive. He'd explain in the morning what had happened.

Bluestreak was awake again.

Infernus wasn't freaking out anymore.

Everything was okay.

Finally, he let his brain slip under again to the pulsing thrum beneath the metal.

* * *

Why had he pulled her out here? Why the secrecy?

He glanced quickly at the hangar. He had wanted to talk to her, he said softly. Worried blue optics locked onto her own. About Miko.

"What about her?"

He patted the air in front of her nervously, requesting she keep her voice down or else use his private comm. channel. He didn't want Bulkhead to overhear. That got her attention – and her suspicion. This wasn't a "normal" Miko issue he wanted to talk about – if it were, he'd do the smart thing and keep Bulkhead in the loop.

"What's wrong?"

"I got cut off earlier," he whispered, "so I didn't get to finish. When I was taking Miko over the Ms. Darby, the air around her felt like it was on fire. And I'm not talking anything weird. I'm talking the air felt like it was _literally on fire._ Burning. Like someone had dropped a napalm around her. Soon as I got away from her, it stopped."

She shuttered her optics once in a rapid blink. None of the Wreckers had mentioned that, she said. But shouldn't he be telling this to Ratchet or June? Why tell her?

Because, he said, this wasn't something either of them could help with, and telling anyone else would mean it would get around.

"What would get around?"

"That sense – the fire – one of the Thirteen decided to help me out in trying to figure out what it is. He did something to my optics. I can see this... _trail_ now. Energy trail," He pointed out towards the hangar where the Iron Will was stored. "It comes out of there and follows the path I took to the on-site housing where Ms. Darby's staying. I've been watching it for a while now. Still there. Hasn't moved. Neither has Miko."

"Energy trail?" she repeated. "What kind of energy?"

The look he gave her made her shudder. It wasn't Infernus looking at her – it wasn't even Smokescreen.

* * *

 _"You say you assaulted my soldiers through coercion," the Grey King said. "Shockwave assures me, however, that Predacons are loyal by their very nature. I find it hard to believe all four of you were so easily taken advantage of."_

 _He cast a quick glance at the Felioid at his side. Silently he thanked Onyx that her flicking tail wasn't translated by the Grey King or his screeching lieutenant. He didn't need to look behind to hear Moonhowler on the floor, shivering and whimpering. He felt worst he had in decades when he snorted and stamped a hoof to quiet the older hound. Tag-Along quickly huddled around his friend. When Ravage tried to lean in to sniff, he snarled and came within a fiber's width of snapping Ravage's snout off._

 _He kept his voice level as he answered, *Ah'm shoore the Builder can explain we're territorial by nature, too, sir. And close. We see something that dooesn't ding right away, we'll react tae protect our oown and our stock. I admit, we've become a tad paranoid.*_

 _The Grey King frowned. Moonhowler whimpered._

 _*Honestly,* Catscratch hissed in a disparaging voice. *Look at us! We wouldn't have stood a bloomin' chance against those moderns. Either we comply, or we get smooshed. It's that simple. And when the alpha makes a decision, the rest better bloody well listen.*_

 _*You managed well enough against a Draconian, cat,* Ravage growled. *Battling a few measly moderns would have been simpler.*_

 _*Dracs are greedy ego-maniacs,* she snapped back. *And you'd do well tae learn soome manners, ya bastart!*  
_

 _Ravage bared his fangs. Catscratch yowled and made to swat him. He stamped again to stop her. Her paw lowered.  
_

 _*Besides,* she continued in her usual domineering manner, *Moony can't control the area of effect of his howl. If we'd managed to bury those moderns, ye'd nae see any of us weeping. We've had our fair share of trooble with them over the years. We dealt with them however we could. Sometimes that meant using our processors and not our jaws when we started losing members to moderns. Can ye really blame us for playin' it safe as our numbers fell?* She motioned to him and the others with her tail. *We're nae exactly an intimidating army.*_

 _The Grey King's frown did not lift. But the suspicion in his burning red gaze lifted somewhat. Moonhowler dared to lift his helm._

 _"Tricks, then," he said.  
_

 _*You could say that, sir,* Tag-Along assured. *Playing smart can sometimes be better than playing hard. Especially at our size.*_

 _The Grey King drew himself up. A nod, almost imperceptible, was coupled with an expression he could not decipher through his field.  
_

 _"Knockout is occupied for the time being with the Draconian from the Isles_ _–"_

 _*Sizzleslash, sir,* he corrected._

 _He glowered at the interruption before continuing, "Until then, Starscream will show you to your quarters. If I hear of another attack on my soldiers, you will not live to regret it."_

 _Moonhowler's whine became, if anything, more pathetic. He was back in a war_ – _a war he didn't wish to be in. He feared he wouldn't last the week._

* * *

" _Is she alive?_ "

The mottled green hound bowed his helm, " _Unfortunately._ "

The she-devil hissed violently, back arched like the twisting neck of that screeching Avioid. At the same time, it was oddly pleased to see the she-devil alive, and her companions.

" _Think we can...?_ "

" _Yoo heard the Grey King._ "

(Grey King. A fitting name, it mused.)

She growled. The sound faded after a moment or two. A sly, fanged smile formed to couple with a impish gleam in her green optics. Her tail twitched.

" _He said nae attacks. He never said nae cleasanna salach..._ "

It did not understand the she-devil's strange second tongue, but the sly grins and optics alight with mischief told of something less than honest. Dangerous – it would wait to see. The she-devil and the grey hound were the only true dangers of the four. What danger could they pose now that they were under orders – and under threat of death for treason?

* * *

 **Author's Note: We'll get to the mystery of the energy trails next time...;)  
**


	33. Chapter 33: Trance

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 33

* _This is where things get...interesting. ;)  
_

 _And just to clarify, words within two "~" are field glyphs_

* * *

Someone else was looking at her. That was the only way to describe his strange expression. Age in his optics. Sorrow in his field. Grim foreboding etched onto his faceplates. Things like that didn't belong in someone as young as Smokescreen. They were all foreign. Out of place. He was supposed to be youth. He was supposed to be energy. He was supposed to be that stupid, blind optimism that she'd abandoned so many years ago. Those foreign things, combined into the one being they didn't belong near, made her mesh crawl uncomfortably. Thousands of tiny needles prickled on her armor.

~ _fright_ ~ ~ _uncertainty_ ~ "What kind of energy?" she repeated.

His narrowed, concentrated gaze averted to focused on the places he had so recently gestured towards. ~ _uncertainty_ ~ ~ _anxious_ ~ ~ _missing picture_ ~

Her dorsal fins hiked up into a tight V shape. ~ _missing picture_ ~ ~ _question_ ~

He glanced back briefly before returning his gaze out into the compound. Some of it, the energy he meant, was caused by lingering tachyon particles, so she'd obviously been hanging around a _jnbu'sktel_ for a while if they hadn't dissipated entirely by now – couple of hours maybe, probably more. No other explanation for them. But the thing was, the amount of tachyons was too low to result in the strength of the energy he was seeing. They were too few to really cause a detectable signal. Tachyons didn't cause burning sensations either, no matter how sensitive he was to energy now. The rest of the energy – it was the real cause of the trail, powerful, burning like a path of gasoline lit on fire wherever Miko had been and where she was now.

"What kind of energy?" she hissed in desperation. "Is it dangerous?"

Those burning blue orbs remained fixed on the distance. When he'd been around Miko, he admitted slowly, it hadn't seemed to have caused any harm to her – not that he'd been able to tell anyway. She'd acted normal enough to him. Brash. Proud. Ignoring the fact she was covered in cuts and bruises. He had no idea if it was harmful or if it had anything directly to do with Miko at all. Maybe it had to do with the fossil.

She let an impatient, worried growl escape, "Then take it from her. If its generating any kind of energy – which it shouldn't – we need to get a closer look."

His helm jerked back to stare at her. His expression and optics were normal again. Young. Energetic. Nervous. "That's just it. I have it right here."

He dug into his subspace and pulled out a piece of rusted metal so small he had to magnetize it to a single digit. He winced for no visible reason and let it drop with an oath. She knelt and magnetized it to her index digit. Not much to look at. Dirty; covered in rust; a couple inches long and wide, and remarkably thick for such a tiny piece of metal. But she felt no pain like the kind that the Prime had felt – felt enough to force him to drop it like a rookie cadet dropped a grenade.

"That's the source of the energy," he whispered.

She jerked her helm up to stare. Her spark jumped and quivered in its chamber.

"You're not serious. Smokescreen, that's insane! That – that's not even _possible_!"

"Is it?" he countered.

The black burn in his optics forced her sight to return to the scrap of metal on her digit. She could see the jagged edges clearer now, and maybe it was only because Infernus had mentioned a burning sense, but she felt (or thought she felt) a low-degree smolder coming from the rusted out metal.

* * *

 _Fire._

 _Every vein, every bone, every neuron, every organ burned in scalding flame. It burned the grass. It burned the trees. It burned the dirt. It burned the sky and clouds. But the fire didn't hurt. It was hot, but she didn't feel it. Not really.  
_

 _The flames ahead parted at a roar_ _– one that made the fires around her burn wildly. Three lizard-y heads tipped by bird-like beak snouts towered over her, attached to a body heavier than Infernus's but not as heavy as Bulkhead's. A long tail, axe-tipped, curled up to rest by the body. Four limbs burned the ground it stood on. She tried to shout "Cool!" but no sound came. She ran forward to get a closer look.  
_

 _That must've been what set the dragon off._

 _The three-headed dragon reared up onto its hind legs, opened its beaks, and spewed roaring, screaming flame at her._

* * *

She woke in a cold sweat, her whole body hot like she'd been running in the heat like those army people, a squeak instead of a scream escaping her mouth. She swallowed once, hard. Frantically, her hands went to her arms, her face. No burns. No fire. Just a dream. Her eyes roved. The room was still dark. Her hand went to the lamp, then stopped. Jack's mom was still out like a rock in her own bed, but she was a light sleeper. Her hand retreated from the lamp, instead swiping her flip phone from beneath it. She squinted through the light of the screen.

 _b?_

 _Miko? I thought you were in power down._

 _wuz weres smoke?_

 _Talking to 'Cee. Why? What's up?  
_

 _nightmare_

 _Nightmare?_

 _*dragon emoji* *dragon emoji* *dragon emoji* *fire emoji* o.O_

 _O.O  
_

The next message didn't come for almost three minutes, and it wasn't from Bulkhead. Ratchet's comm. thingy number came up in a new chat head.

 _You had a stressful day, Miko. On top of the files Jack found over the creature, it's not a stretch that your brain was trying to process it all_ – _in this case in the form of a lucid nightmare._

 _but_

 _Your body needs rest to heal after your reckless escapade today. We will discuss this further in the morning with Infernus._

 _fine -_-  
_

She shut the phone and lay back down. The heat from the dragon stuck around.

* * *

An hour of trying that bordered on begging had yielded no results. He'd tried to get the piece of metal – piece of radial plating armor, Alchemist thought, due to the thickness of it – to talk to him, to get the vision to trigger. But he was empty-handed. Scorchmark refused to talk to him, and it seemed the more he tried to get him to talk, the more the piece of metal burned – something that had earned a thoughtful rumble from Onyx and Optimus together. Neither had elaborated, but he had felt the Beast Prime's presence fade. At that, he fumed in frustration, handing the piece of armor to Arcee for safe-keeping, and stormed out into the moonlight to shadow the energy trail. Still there. Still hot.

Scorchmark wanted to play hard to get. Mech was dead, and he was somehow managing it. Trying only made the answers he wanted skitter away.

He wasn't giving up, not just yet. He'd just have to get more creative. Work around the obvious answer.

Lining himself up with the burn and fiery trail, he began to stalk along its length. He let his sight wander. He could see a storm far out in the shadowy distance of the eastern horizon, beyond the range of sight of his team. Winds whipped and rain pounded against the rock and sand. Desert storm. Big one. In two distinct places he could see a spin in the clouds. Images flashed in his optics, the landscape and distant storm flickering like a bad signal. Sand and stone and cacti were replaced with flat green plains, and a tube of whirling grey wind and cloud stretched down to the ground, dancing and twisting and roaring through a town and devouring the dwellings in its path. He jolted as his vision snapped back to normal. Optimus had seen this before. Those rotating clouds were a warning of something worse to come.

[Prime?]

His pace faltered. [Doc? What's up?]

[Miko has suffered a peculiar nightmare of the Burner.]

He almost stumbled. Miko had had a nightmare of Scorchmark?

Ratchet confirmed. He had not garnered details on it, but Miko would discuss it come morning, and she had seemed unaffected – if perhaps understandably rattled.

He followed the trail nearer to the barracks, barely keeping his pace steady. No flashes came, and a scan of the building where June and Miko were revealed steady pulses. But here, outside the barrack building they slept in, the heat was almost unbearable _,_ and the trail near the barracks was brightest. Growling, he left the trail and made for Hangar E. From a distance, he spotted the Thunderbird loitering beyond the hangar's threshold. His warning lights blinked softly but wildly.

~ _concern_ ~ ~ _intrigue_ ~ ~ _fear_ ~ "Prime?"

He swapped forms to address him. ~ _fear_ ~ ~ _question_ ~

"The storm," Grimwing stated in a gasp. "Look."

His sight followed the Thunderbird's digit out to the eastern horizon. Lightning flashed among the clouds, and through the rumbling white he saw two tubes of grey wafting across the desert. ~ _clarification_ ~ ~ _request_ ~ He did not understand the look of abject terror on the other mech's face, and he understood less the strange gesture of his hand as his yellow gaze followed the twin twisters. Two digits extended from his fist, hovered over his optics, and jerked outward towards the storm. One digit fell to let its sole partner point towards the storm's roaring spawn. He muttered something in Navajo too quick to catch.

"Dead Man Walking," the Thunderbird murmured in English.

"What?"

"Dead Man Walking," the Thunderbird repeated. "An old belief of the Plains tribes. To see it is to witness a portent of death."

He knew it was just a storm that had spawned two tornadoes, but he still shivered. They looked a lot more like real legs now, legs of a giant, slowly striding over the darkened desert horizon and crushing anything in their path. On a world of so many fragile things, that the weather was so destructive was twisted. Earth itself was hostile and angry, indifferent to the suffering its phenomenon caused, or more probably taking glee in the devastation considering who lay thousands of klicks beneath the ground. How had they managed to survive so long on a planet that desperately wanted to kill them?

' _Megatron, ironically, said it best,_ ' Optimus rumbled. ' _The human race is resilient._ '

' _Should I keep trying? To get the vision to trigger, I mean._ '

' _Kicking a dead horse isnae productive, lad,_ ' Alchemist grumbled. _'Ah suggest you catch up on lost hours while you have the chance. The energy isnae bothering the lass_ _– only you. One of us'll prod ya when Onyx gets back from bein' a ghostly P.I., or if something happens. We'll get the lass's story come morning._ '

He gusted hot air out of his vents. A couple hours of power down after the insanity of the past day and a half sounded like paradise he admitted, padding inside the friendly warmth of the hangar. Drawing up to the medical berth where Blue was still lying, he coiled up, draping his tail over his optics.

The black came without a struggle.

* * *

The Isles felt empty.

They'd started to feel empty over the centuries – the Hunts had been long-lasting and relentless – and the war between Seelie and Unseelie had contributed just as bad. But this wasn't an empty of a lull between sides or even the sense of a death. This was empty as in "no one's home" empty. He'd checked the usual spots where the sides hid or gathered just to be sure. Nothing. No one. Everyone was gone. Even the bodies from the tombs. Not even the dead could keep him company. And that sort of empty meant just one glaring thing: the only place for steady fuel was the Seelie mine. He'd never taken sides, preferring to stay out of disputes (they weren't exactly healthy in the long run) so he'd be considered a trespasser at best. And mines always had guards and workers. 'Course, there was the age-old option of picking off said workers and guards, but they'd start noticing after a few "disappearances" out into the moors. After the incident today, they'd probably issued the order of "no following glow-lights; they're bad for your health." The Grey King's soldiers weren't too bright, but they weren't exactly stupid either.

His feathery antennae wiggled at the unpleasant realization of his situation.

Either he chose a side – or he'd eventually starve.

The 'Cons had numbers and resources behind them, but they probably wouldn't be too happy on discovering the fate of one of their own. They had ways of stealing inside a mind, tearing it apart for information. Lying wasn't possible. The opposing tribe, the Autobots, were ignorant of his acts, so would probably be easier to convince. Numbers and resources were uncertain though. Dare he risk it?

' _What are you thinking, eejit?_ ' he scolded himself. ' _You don't even know where they are!_ '

Chirping, he lay his helm down on his paws and lowered his antennae. If only Cat were here. She could intel-gather better than anyone on either side – not to mention she could do it and not get caught. And, to be brutally honest with himself, he – well, he missed her. She wasn't there to mess with him anymore, and he couldn't mess with her. No traps bungled to backfire on him, no "gifts" left near her countless hidey-holes. Nothing. His spark felt a little emptier knowing she wasn't there. The dull skies and rain did nothing to improve his mood.

After the rain stopped and the sun set, he promised himself, he'd do some intel-gathering at the mine. Time wasn't on his side.

Out in the mist, a little light appeared on the hills to dance. In the wisps that came from its top he thought he saw a set of antlers.

Chirping, his helm lifted. Curiosity made him flash the lights than ran along the tips of his antennae.

The light on the hills answered, mimicking his flashes.

He flashed again to make sure.

It answered again.

His antennae stood straight up. He'd never had one of the lights "copy cat" him before. Most times they appeared, shone for a while, then faded away.

He decided to experiment.

Slinking to the edge of the mound's entrance, he flashed a message to the light in optical code. Three quick flashes, a long glare, two quick flashes, and four more flashes. He paused, then rapidly pulsed his antennae lights before letting them glare. Then he deactivated his lights. The light on the hills didn't answer. At first. As he watched, it answered with one long glare, five rapid flashes, three long glares, and a finishing flash. It then answered back again through six slow flashes, a glare, and a final rapid firing light show that slowed. Done "talking" it resumed its constant, feeble glow.

He froze. It had answered his question, affirming it, but should he trust it? It might be trying to pull his age-old trick on him.

The light "spoke" again. He almost jumped at the translation.

" _Spritelight,_ " it twinkled, " _come. Can help._ "

He balked, lowered his antennae. It read his suspicion. Briefly, a form flickered around the silver-y tinged green light before fading away again. He balked further, ducking back into the mound just enough to be mostly hidden but still keep watch on the light. He hadn't imaged the tiny antlers.

" _Come!_ " the light repeated. " _Hurry!_ "

He hesitated further. The light had every right to give him a taste of his own medicine when he was the reason it existed. But what choice did he have? The light seemed sincere – how, he didn't know, but it did seem that way. That was the essence of a deception though: the trickster fooling the sucker into believing them to be honest. This could be a trick on the spirit's part – revenge. Or it might not be. There was only one way to answer that. Helm low, belly-plating almost brushing the stone and grass, he slunk out of the mound and into the rain. The light wavered, flashing once and flickering its shell form. Bucking, the tiny, short-horned stag bounded away in a blur of wavering colored light. Fast. Too fast to keep up on trod.

Still uncertain, he took off in a loud buzzing of his wings, lights dim to hide among the rain.

It was only then, after a breem of flying, in the air, that he realized the stag wasn't headed for the Seelie mine.

The stag was headed for the coast.

* * *

"Rafael."

The boy stirred on the passenger seat. Getting him situated last night without waking him had been one of the more delicate operations he had performed. He didn't want to wake him after the stress of last night, but he had calculated he had accumulated a solid eight hours now. Any longer and it could disrupt his cognitive functions, confusing his body needlessly into believing it was in another time zone.

"Ratchet?" he mumbled. He blinked as he rose. His hand adjusted the glasses that had until now been lopsided. "What is it?"

"You deserve an answer."

His eyes riveted onto him, "About what happened at Yosemite?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

He told him. He told him everything. But it wasn't the story of his meeting or the how of it all that caught the boy's attention. It was the very start of his story.

"Wait, what did you see over the grave?"

"His spark, I believe. Why?"

"What did it look like?"

After describing it, Rafael shoved the door open and darted up to the suspended lounge on the catwalks. Opening his laptop, he began to type in an almost feverish haste.

"Link up," he said. "But brace yourself."

He did. Dozens of internet search results filtered into his processor, all of them describing roughly the same thing: a sphere of colorful light. More and more internet pages came until they numbered in the hundreds.

"By the Allspark... Rafael, are those...?"

"No idea. Some of them may be natural phenomenon, like the wisps, but some of these other reports – I'm not so sure. No way natural phenomenon can chase people down highways."

"Chase people down highways?" Infernus wondered from his post by the hangar's entrance. "What the heck are you two up to over there?"

Rafael glanced down at him, "Um..." Then he looked back up. "We're not sure yet. We'll get back to you?"

Infernus cocked a brow ridge at him but didn't pry further.

* * *

Something shook her shoulder in the darkness.

"Miko," a voice whispered. "Miko!"

"F've m'minutes..." she mumbled.

"Miko, honestly," the voice insisted. "You do realize it's almost ten, right? You'll upset your circadian rhythm if you sleep in too late."

Her eyes opened. Jack's mom was there hunched over at her bedside, one hand on her shoulder. She thought she looked concerned, or maybe it was miffed. Hard to tell. Her brain and eyes refused to hook up. Blearily, she sat up. She still felt hot under the light sheet but not as bad, and at least she wasn't sweating any more. Ms. Darby must've sensed something wrong through her special nurse powers – her hand went to her forehead before she could really register it. Then she frowned. She rose and went over to the bag of medical supplies and doohickeys that sat on a trunk at the foot of her bed. One was brought out, and soon enough it ran across her forehead, beeping twice.

"Low-grade fever..." she muttered. Out of the blue she added, "Yes, she's awake."

Her Bluetooth was on, she noticed. She was talking to someone else.

"I'm fine," she protested.

Ms. Darby frowned, "If you have a fever of any grade you're definitely not 'fine,' young lady. Let me see your injuries."

She tossed the light sheet aside and rose. The woman scrutinized the smaller cuts and then gingerly removed the bandages protecting the uglier ones.

"No infections..." she muttered, "and no symptoms of a bug..."

Snorting, she rolled her eyes and asked if she could go. At that, the woman demanded where she needed to be in a hurry, so she explained impatiently and left it open ended. Ms. Darby didn't seem totally convinced (when was she _ever_ convinced?) but at least she didn't try to barricade the door or anything.

Her hand went to her Bluetooth, "Could you send someone to pick her up?...Thank you, doctor."

She groaned. Great. Now the doc-bot was involved in this.

The nurse's hand went down. The nurse told her to stay still as she rummaged against in her bag. More bandages and creams were brought out. Some of them stung as they were wrapped around or placed, but the sting was nowhere near as bad as yesterday. Right on finishing up she heard the sound of a growling engine. Not Bulk's. This one was scratchier, less rumble-y. The door was knocked on and slowly opened. It wasn't the military uniform that gave Mark away – it was the smartphone, hastily tucked into a side pocket. He grinned and offered a casual salute to Ms. Darby.

"Somebody call for a taxi?" he teased.

Ms. Darby went over to him, "Could I have a lift, too? I need to have a little ' _talk_ ' with Ultra Magnus," she added, eyeing her quickly.

"Sure thing, ma'am. I'll drop you off where he is after we get little miss stowaway dropped off for her interrogation."

"Interrogation?!" the woman gasped. "About what?"

Mark laughed, "I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Infernus just really wants to talk to her. C'mon. It's getting hotter out by the minute, and these suits don't exactly breathe."

He led them outside where a Jeep was waiting. Just a regular old Jeep. And Ms. Darby got the shotgun seat. She was disappointed, but it was short-lived when the engine kicked into gear like a rabid tiger. It wasn't Bulkhead, but it worked. She smiled at the rush of wind over the open-top canopy. The instant Hangar E got into view she spotted Bulkhead waiting by the entrance. Prowl was out there with him. Mark honked the horn halfway there to let them know. Saluting to the black and white mech as he pulled up (and giving a cheerful smile that seemed to annoy him) he set the brakes and let her get out of the back on her own. Inside, Infernus was waiting, held back by Ratchet's hand. His eyes – his eyes, not his dragon eyes – locked with hers. She nodded.

With a wave and a parting honk of his horn, Mark went on his way.

Infernus made to charge, but Bulkhead swooped on her before he could get one foot off the ground.

"You okay?" he wondered. "Ms. Darby says your core temperature is higher than its supposed to be."

She rolled her eyes and snorted, "Psh! It's a tiny fever, Bulk. Chill. I can barely feel it."

"Small discrepancies can lead to much larger problems," warned Prowl. "I advise you not to dismiss this so carelessly."

She stuck her tongue at him.

Bulkhead brought her in and handed her to Infernus. She didn't understand why he winced the second her boots touched his hand.

"Bulkhead told me you had a nightmare?"

She shrugged it off.

"And you saw Scorchmark in it?"

Her arms folded, "Giant fiery dragon with three heads and a bad attitude, then yeah. Pretty sure it was him."

He continued to interrogate, "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Walked up to it and it spewed fire. What else? Woke up after that sweating. Had a hard time sleeping 'cause I felt hot. It's better this morning but I still feel like I got a bad sunburn or something."

The Prime tossed a look over at Ratchet and then turned back to her. There was something in his eyes. He held his hand out towards Ratchet and the doc's red beam swept over her a few times.

* * *

Holding a human was a delicate operation. The hand had to be kept still to prevent them from teetering or wobbling or, Primus, forbid, falling to their deaths. That wasn't made any easier when that piece of fleshy glass felt like a smelter in his hands, and her whole body was glowing with the weird energy. She seemed her normal, impatient, seconds-from-demanding-answers self though, like the nightmare didn't bother her all that much.

[Why the fever though? She was fine yesterday.]

[I can't tell. Her body is not reacting to any sort of infection or stressor. It is recent though. June checked her last night while treating her wounds and there was no fever. This had to have happened sometime last night.]

~ _dream_ ~ ~ _link_ ~ ~ _question_ ~

Ratchet's field answered in a whirl of ~ _unknown_ ~

' _Any idea why she sees Scorchmark and not me?_ '

' _Fer one, the lass's got him attached to her. See how his energy's nae melding with hers?_ '

He did. Miko's bombastic pink and red energy was separate from Scorchmark's blazing orange and yellow. Swirling and writing, but no merging into one fiery rainbow. It was just like _Murdered: Soul Suspect._ Miko wasn't a vessel – she was just something Scorchmark could latch on to, same as the piece of armor. And just like the game, it appeared there was little he could do outside of doing that. He hadn't tried anything destructive or damaging, but he could be biding his time, waiting to jump to another host. But, then again, maybe he physically couldn't do that or, stranger still, didn't want to. Scorchmark's energy hadn't even tried to jump to Bulkhead, he'd had the entire ride from the Isles to jump to the other Wreckers, and he'd had all night to jump to Arcee. But he hadn't.

' _So how the heck do I get him off?_ '

' _You will not like it,_ ' Optimus warned.

' _I don't like anything about this._ '

' _Place her on the ground, first._ '

He obeyed, ' _Now what?_ '

' _Allow your mind to empty. Do not focus on anything._ '

Not focusing on anything was harder than he thought. Disconnecting from Raf's laptop and Ratchet's console and shuttering his optics helped, but it still took a while. He let himself relax a little as he forgot about the tension of the situation and all the problems that insisted on pestering him. He felt the Matrix hum as the entity within stirred. He felt something slither out of the device, warm and soft. Panic suffused every circuit in his body, and his mind snapped from its unfocused state. That sense, that coiling snake – that was the exact same sense Optimus had detected right before – no way. No, no, no! He wasn't trying to –!

The coil connected.

Nothing happened. But something felt different. Not just in him, but around him. Something in the air. It made his mesh tingle unpleasantly.

' _Open your eyes, little ember. The worst has passed._ '

He did.

He yelped and stumbled back, hastily changing one hand into a blaster.

Looming behind Miko, smack in front of him in the hangar's entrance, was a three-headed dragon made of fire. Mist, dark and foreboding, lacking the speckled star-light he was used to, seemed to devour the sunlight streaming from outside and the fire from the dragon.

" _What? What is it? What's going on?!_ "

" _Put the weapon away, Prime!_ "

" _Why are his eyes glowing? He's not touching the fossil._ "

Their voices felt distant, sounded distant, but were loud and clear. Like he was listening from far away, but he couldn't be – he was in the same room as them.

" _Prime_ ," Prowl said. " _What. Is. Happening?_ "

He took one step forward. Scorchmark screamed at him. He kept the blaster aimed and stepped back.

" _He sees something we can't..._ " Ratchet realized, " _something not completely here._ "

" _What's that supposed to mean?_ "

" _What about Miko?!_ "

' _Now what?! I can't get near him!_ '

' _Calm, little ember. You must remain calm, or this will be for naught._ '

' _Y_ _ou got me into this. Tell me how to get him off her! Now!_ '

' _Convince him to stand_ _down_ ,' Optimus rumbled, ' _t_ _hat his mission is long over, and offer him a path home through the Matrix._ _It is either that, or meet him fully in the tbezn'hkol_ _plane, the plane of existence he is occupying, and defeat him in combat. And the second option is infinitely more dangerous_ _– for all involved._ '

' _I'm willing to take that risk_. _He's not interested in talking._ '

' _Try first, kid. Onyx would tell you the same thing_ – _this way is loads safer. Least this way he can't hurt you._ '

He took in some air to cool his overworked systems, lowered his blaster, and stepped towards the spectral beast. He addressed him, "Scorchmark!" The others shared shocked whispers. Scorchmark seemed insulted and spewed screaming fire from one head in warning. His flames swept by him without heat and without pain. He took another step forward. "I know you think nothing can stand in the way of your mission," he continued, "but you're wrong. Your mission ended the second you were killed. You can't do anything to further it the way you are now. So I'm giving you five seconds to leave Miko alone and go home, or I'm gonna be forced to make you submit the old fashioned way."

" _The Builder brought me back_ _once_!" the dragon screamed. " _With my shell in his possession, he will do so again! My mission will continue, and you and all who serve you will be consumed in flame! You are nothing more than prey!_ "

"You think that's a threat?" he snorted derisively. "Your fires will never match what I went through. Go on, sucker. Try again."

Scorchmark took the challenge, screamed, and spewed fire from all three of his heads. The burning tide washed over him as he kept getting closer. Another burning wave swept by him. He thought he caught a hint of fear in Scorchmark's rage-filled optics then, after the fire fizzled out behind him and he drew up to him. He stood in front of he beast for a moment. All three of his heads screamed and tried to bite and blister him in flame. The angry heads merely phased through him as if the Phase Shifter were active, as ineffectual as his spectral fire breath. His hand shot forward. Energy, blue and chilled, snapped around his center beak, then lashed around the other two. The fear became more pronounced. He yanked one head forward.

"You think I don't know fire?" he hissed. "I know fire. I _am_ fire. I am Infernus Prime, and I _order_ you to stand down."

Scorchmark blinked at him. Something in his attitude convinced him to remove the energy muzzles.

"Let go of her," he snarled. " _Now._ "

The dragon's fiery energy detached itself, Miko swaying on her feet in response, unwinding and swirling until he stood before him in bipedal mode. He was an intimidating figure, he wouldn't deny it. Two of his heads formed his pauldrons, and the top of the third helm rested on his chassis. Without him asking, he sank to one knee, one hand crossing his chassis like a knight swearing loyalty to a king.

" _I have no way home, Prime. The path is dark, and the lantern of home is long dim,_ " His helm lifted, " _You...you will send an oorstin vahan?_ "

"No," he answered. "I've got no reason to be nice to you after the stunt you pulled, but I'm doing it anyway. I'm giving you a short cut."

He focused. His chassis panels rearranged themselves to reveal the shining object within.

"Go home, Scorchmark," he said in a softer voice. "Your mission's over."

The once furious beast bowed to him and began to dissolve into connected streams that swirled towards him, the harsh burn they had once given now a low simmer. Scorchmark hesitated for a brief second just in front of his chassis, and then flowed in. Flashes of memory, Scorchmark's memories, collected over his life, appeared in his mind in a raging river only to slow to a halt just as the burn inside quelled. The roaring rapids of the dragon's life force became a gentle stream.

" _Thank you, Prime_ _..._ "

He shut the panels. A sigh of relief escaped him. Exhaustion made itself known.

"Okay, so now wh–"

The warm coil snapped free.

He fell.

* * *

" _–ime? Prime?_ "

A bright light danced in his stuttering vision.

"Could you not?" he groaned, but it came out as an angry growl.

The light retreated. Ratchet's concerned faceplates met him. One of his hands extended. He took it, grateful for it keeping him steady.

"What happened?" Bluestreak demanded from the medical berth. "You did something, a-and then you drew your gun, and your optics were all glowing and weird, but you didn't have the fossil, and then you started talking to someone and then you did something, and something else, and then you –"

Ratchet interrupted, "You're unharmed?"

"Uh," he glanced at himself, "I mean, I think so."

"Good,"

Ratchet's hand clanged onto the back of his helm. He yelped at the sharp pain, "What the heck was that for?!"

"Not warning me first."

"Hey, 'scuse me! I barely got any warning myself! They threw me in before I knew what I was supposed to do!"

Ratchet forcibly guided him over to his work bench. His hand went out almost without thought to steady himself. There were still residual wisps of energy in the air, growing fainter and fainter. He couldn't tell if his sight was still under whatever effect the Thirteen had forced him, and the energy itself was fading away, or if they were gradually returning his sight to normal. He still felt off.

"What happened, Prime?" demanded his older brother.

"All due respect for your mental prowess, Prowl," Ratchet retorted, "what Smokescreen just experienced is not something you would be able to comprehend in an instant. Let him recover first before you assail him with any questions."

"Doc, just admit it," he said from the bench. "I performed an exorcism."

A wave of vertigo suddenly came. One hand went to his helm as the world keeled dangerous to one side. He groaned. Don't get sick, don't get sick, he repeated to himself. He began to cycle air slowly.

"Cool!" Miko exclaimed. "You mean I was possessed?!"

He managed a weak laugh in time to instantly regret it. The vertigo returned with a vengeance. She was less rattled than he was about the whole thing.

"No, not really," he managed. "More like an anchor."

Only Miko, he thought, would give a little noise of disappointment over being told that no, she hadn't been possessed.

* * *

 **Author's Note: Slightly shorter chapter. I may add a little more on later, but I dunno. Leaving it here feels the best.**


	34. Chapter 34: Name

**Fire of Youth**

Chapter 34

* _Apologies for this taking so long to upload, guys! End of the semester is always super busy, and I've been working on other stuff.  
_

 _*You happy now Craig? xD_

* * *

He wasn't completely sure what he had done yet, but whatever it had been his body was less than thrilled over going through with it. The nausea and dizziness and generally yucky sense stuck around for an unforgiving length of time. Ratchet kept close as it crawled on, monitoring him. His beam swept over him once or twice; he didn't really notice. The next thing he knew a sub-mesh injector was being jabbed into the _ylfinken_ line under his radial plating. His systems registered an influx of medical grade Energon with zinc and tungsten particulates in it. The dizziness and nausea began to fade after a few long minutes. He dared to follow the medic's movements then, as he put away the injector into his kit. There was a certain rhythm to the things he'd just done, he noticed, but it wasn't completely mechanical. He hadn't needed to hunt around for what he'd required – that injector had been waiting in the medic's kit next to a container of the stuff he'd given him. He'd been prepared for this to happen, he realized. That was the only explanation for that quick reaction and the stuff in the kit.

"The first time is always the hardest on the systems," he muttered through a quick sideways glance. "It gets easier with time."

He stared at Ratchet in surprise, "You knew this was going to happen."

"Well, not this specifically, no," he admitted in his usual terseness, "and I certainly didn't expect it to happen here of all places. But it always pays to be prepared when dealing with such an uncertain variable as a Prime – especially you it seems. You have an unfortunate habit of getting yourself into situations no one else does."

"Oh, so I'm just a variable to you now, is that it?" he joked sarcastically. "What am I? S equals insanity or something?"

The kit was clasped shut, "Don't make me sedate you."

He balked a little, "You wouldn't da–"

Ratchet re-opened the kit, grabbed the sub-mesh injector, and held it above the kit in a thinly veiled threat. Not willing to trust him to not try anything on a whim, he side-stepped a few times to put some distance between him and the medic's prickling field. Apparently satisfied, the injector was put away and the kit bolted up again for good. But as Ratchet passed by him from behind to stash the kit he caught a few glyphs for sympathy and, when he gave him a sideways glance, a humorous twinkle in his blue gaze. His expression went flat in realization, but a smirk soon weaseled its way into existence. It wasn't often the old medic displayed his unique brand of humor, and he was glad to see it. When Ratchet rejoined him at his side, his coarse kindness made itself known. He had him move his helm slowly side to side to test for motion sickness, checked the receptivity of his optics and reflexes, gave him a final once over and declared he was near perfectly recovered from his ordeal.

"I still don't feel right though," he insisted. "It's hard to describe, like –"

"Feeling like your stuck in a heavy object in water and can't seem to move properly anymore? Or maybe feeling like you're coming out of a bad hangover?"

He eyed him again, "Seriously, doc, you're starting to scare me with how much you know about what just happened."

"Seconded," Wheeljack agreed in a grunt.

"I'm surprised you _don't_ understand what just happened," Ratchet retorted, "considering the information sources you now have at your disposal."

"Yeah, well, they're less focused on explaining _that_ and more interested in interrogating the guy I was talking to. So if _you_ could explain, that'd be great _._ "

"First, tell me what happened. Precisely, word for word. Leave nothing out. Judging by how you reacted, what you did, and what you said once this was resolved, this is not what I became accustomed to with Optimus."

"Wait, this sorta thing happened to him too?" Bulkhead demanded.

"Not exactly like this, no," Ratchet corrected, "but the general concept behind what Infernus experienced I am reasonably well-versed in. Now, no more interruptions."

"Seriously, at this rate you might as well explain all this yourself," he teased. "You sound like you know more than I do."

Ratchet refused to take the bait. "Talk," he grunted.

"Not even a brief summary?"

"Talk."

"Alright, alright. Don't get your wires in a twist..."

* * *

Going by reaction alone he had guessed the experience Smokescreen had endured had been far more intensive and stressful than anything his old friend had ever undergone. He had not been wrong. His words conveyed his confusion and stress over the situation alongside his body, tense and strained, and his field, sharp and prickly like the many cacti that grew in the sandy desert. The interaction had jarred him badly, as had what he had seen when in the trace. There were risks present for Smokescreen that had not been present for Optimus. And he was not certain how to feel about the Thirteen tossing the youth into such a situation without at least a partial debriefing. There had been no severe effect on Miko other than the low-grade fever, so rushing to resolve the problem seemed a poor excuse. He had never known the Thirteen to be so impulsive before. This entire concept was new ground for him – completely foreign. He had deserved _some_ clarification from them. A few seconds could have been spared for that, surely, he said.

"That's what you're for," Infernus joked.

"Apparently."

He had to admit discomfort at the tale itself, too. The beast had lingered after death willingly through a need for revenge on his killer, an unaligned Harmonexian mech named Freeflow, and so had unwittingly trapped himself in the black fog of Unicron's field. That Scorchmark's fury had subsided after the intimidating display of rank by Infernus was encouraging, but that he had held such fury in him for so long after his death was troubling. He had never known – and Optimus had never described – a spark retaining so much anger over so long a time span.

He had to wonder if the fog had done more than render Scorchmark's sense of direction moot. Being in a world of hostile, roiling shadows for so long, with no one to hear or help you, had to have an effect on the psyche.

"So?" the young Prime prompted. "You gonna explain what I just did?"

"Primes have a simple, over-arching responsibility," he said. "Protect life, no matter what form it takes."

"Yeah, yeah, I got that," Infernus interrupted quickly.

"If you want an explanation," he huffed back, "then keep quiet and let me speak."

Infernus obeyed, cowed.

"Now, as I was saying, they have that over-arcing responsibility towards the living. That much is always made plain from the very start. But because of the Matrix and their connection through it to the core of Cybertron, they thus bear a responsibility towards the dead. I don't claim to be an expert on this aspect of a Prime, and not even Optimus understood some of the finer details of it, but in simplest terms the Matrix can serve as a medium of communication with the dead. You have the capacity to see, hear, and interact with them when in that trance state, and you alone can help them if they are in trouble. A Prime, for lack of a better analogy, is the ultimate astral guide. However, what you experienced is not what I had grown accustomed to with Optimus."

The Prime's helm tilted to the side, "It was different?"

"The general concept of this, no. That remains the same regardless. That is why there is a term for it: _siljunaz'tkjor vrvrlaen_ _._ For Optimus, there was very little in the way of risk – he never had to fully enter the trance state you did, and there were no dangers presented to him whenever he performed these acts. For you, though, there are risks that were not present for Optimus."

"Unicron's field?" he guessed. "But that didn't affect me. Like I said, it _avoided_ me."

"True, but because it does not affect you does not mean it cannot affect someone else – as proven through Scorchmark. Unicron's field poses no significant threat to _you_ , but it does obviously pose a threat to lost sparks trapped within it that do not possess the same protection as you do. As you said, they become disoriented so badly they become lost, and I suspect such disorientation over an extended period can affect their minds as well. Owing to research done by Rafael after my...incident at Yosemite, I have reason to suspect Scorchmark was far from an isolated case."

Infernus stared at him for a few moments as his words were processed. The only word that managed to make it out was "What?"

Turning, he nodded silently at Rafael. The boy nodded back and typed quickly into his personal computer for a minute. Then, hitting a command key, he turned his attention towards the larger screen on the console. He knew the child didn't fully understand their beliefs, but he knew enough now that the look on his face bordered on grave, and that look gave warning and fed into the gathered at once. Out of them all, Arcee appeared most affected by that look, and when the dozens upon dozens of images were transferred from machine to machine, she appeared to suffer the most shock at the sight of so many little lights. Not even the taciturn, emotionless Prowl was entirely immune to the implications the images brought to the forefront – his expression briefly twitched into what he thought was concern.

"Hang on," Jack leaned onto the railing and pointed. "Look. Some of those come from the British Isles," he turned to the Wreckers. "Did you guys see any while you were there?"

"No," Ultra Magnus said. "And nothing unusual was detected on scanners, either. On the other hand, we were not actively searching for them."

"Seems they only show up around dusk or after dark, too." Wheeljack noted. "We were headed back here by that time."

Jack's face scrunched into a puzzled squint, "Okay, but if these are sparks that are out wandering looking for a way out of the spider-web, was Scorchmark one of them?"

"No, he wasn't."

"How come? What was the difference with him?"

"It was something to do with the mound he was buried in, I think," Infernus answered. "Since old superstitions about Knocknarea prevented people from excavating like what happened with the other stone structures and mounds, and the black fog left him trapped and disoriented, he couldn't get out of the tomb. He was stuck in there until someone breached it. First it was the 'Cons coming in and taking his body away, then Wheeljack blowing a hole in it so Miko could get in and snag that fragment."

"So why hitch a ride in that one tiny fragment and not the rest of him?"

"He didn't go with the 'Cons. His body went ahead of him, but he remained behind. He was hoping to gather intel as a gift for the 'Cons."

He couldn't help scoffing aloud, "Doubtful such a tactic would have worked. As I learned through Grimwing, memories are not preserved well in cases of forced reactivation. Some of it might have survived, perhaps, but it would be fragmented, vague. Nowhere near useful as tactical data. I'm uncertain if a patch could recover the data."

"Which brings me to a question you may slap me for asking," Infernus said.

"I'll be the judge of that," he huffed.

The young Prime plowed into his question with about as much tact as Miko usually displayed, "If Shockwave can just reactive Scorchmark, what the heck was the point of what I did? And what would be the point of doing it for all of them," he gestured to the screen, "if they'll be reactivated by Shockwave, too? What I do is a band-aid, not a long-term solution."

"Smokescreen –"

"If it were just a few of them, I wouldn't be asking," he continued quickly, "but we're talking dozens, maybe hundreds. I'm _one_ mech. One."

His voice became firmer, "Smokescreen –"

But the stress in the young Prime's voice went to fever point regardless, "I can't do that, doc! That's not possible! It's not even _feasible!_ There's risks, and the number of them, a-and the after effects, and your supplies won't last for–"

" _Smokescreen_!"

" _What?_ "

"Your argument is valid," he said simply. "Every single point you made is sound, and I am not arguing with you. This is not Cybertron, and this is not what I have grown accustomed to with Optimus; there are risks that could pose a threat to you that pose a present, greater risk to the lost, but this problem is too large for one individual, Prime or not, to handle alone. I agree. But I believe there is a solution to this. I can detail it to you word for word."

Some of the panic in his gaze evaporated. He nodded, "O-Okay. Okay. What's the plan?"

"Download the location information regarding these lights from Rafael's computer so that Onyx may transfer it to his guides. That way, the search area is narrowed down and shortens the time they will remain exposed to Unicron's field. With Unicron incapacitated for the time being, I hope, I believe this would be the ideal time to do this since his field is weaker than I suspect it was in the past, therefore reducing the risk further."

"That fog was pretty thick though," he retorted warily.

"I expect it was, but fields can vary in intensity depending on the state of the one it belongs to. I expect it was far thicker for Scorchmark in the past, when Unicron's spark was not in a shut down state."

"Right. Right," he agreed. "I got them. Onyx has them now, too."

"Good. That is all that has to be done on our end."

"Really?"

"Really."

Infernus's helm went back a few degrees as air escaped his mouth and neck vents.

"Can I pass out now?"

"No. You've already done your passing out for today."

His optics rolled to the side to eye him. A smile formed, "I hate you _so_ much."

He smiled back in smug satisfaction, "You're welcome."

* * *

He had no reason to trust the ghost stag, and the ghost stag had no reason to trust him. And yet the spirit had somehow managed to get him from the hills to the west coast and through the city of Galway, Ireland without getting him caught. Now, he was hunkered down flat on his chassis on the roof of a building that sat along the bay, more convinced than before that the spirit was trying to get even by getting him caught. Why else would he lead him into a bustling port city?

"Now what?" he growled at the flickering light beside him.

The light flashed back. This was as far as he could take him. The rest of the journey had to be done alone.

His helm whipped towards the light. "What? How come?"

" _Cannot stay long,_ " the light blinked. " _Fog thinning. Can hear the song of home at last._ "

"Oh, so you're just going to ditch me in the busiest, most populated city in Ireland so you can run back to daddy?" he sneered. "Gee, thanks."

In hindsight, considering who he was talking to, he had no reason to get snippy with the spirit. That he was helping him at all was confounding.

" _You must cross the waters._ "

Shock coursed through him. _"_ Are you loopy? Full reserves or not, there is no way I'm flying across the slagging Atlantic! Do I look like an airliner to you?"

The light rippled. He had never said he was to fly.

"So what do you suggest I do?"

" _Simple,_ " the light blinked. " _Hitch a ride._ "

A little tendril extended from the wavering sphere, pointing down briefly to the hefty cargo hauler ships being loaded by crane. He blinked quickly. That wasn't actually a half-bad suggestion. There was probably room in one of the shipping containers if he squeezed in, or if that failed he could slip into the cargo hold and camp out there.

"But which one do I take?" he wondered. "Where am I going?"

" _Follow the route that so many Irish took when faced with the threat of starvation._ "

"America?"

The light flickered once in confirmation. Then it began to fade. He panicked.

"No, no, no. Wait, wait!" he begged. "America is a huge country! Which ship do I take?"

" _Follow the path of the summer storm._ "

And then the light was gone.

He swore, slamming a fist against the roof. That answer was too broad. Hurricanes could go absolutely anywhere. They didn't follow a set route like ships or planes or cars. Wind drove them, not a map or a pilot.

"Yeah, great advice!" he whispered loudly, voice dripping in sarcasm. "Maybe be a little more cryptic next time!"

Frustrated, his optics darted from ship to ship in search of one that would be headed to the North American continent. There were a decent number scattered around the docks. None of the ships were the giants said to pass through the Gulf of Mexico, but the port of Galway could only handle so many ships. And then they stopped on one particular container ship. The ship wasn't as impressive as some of the larger vessels in port, and she was still being loaded by crane. He couldn't tell what was in the containers, but written in bold white letters on the side of its dark grey-green hull was a name: _MV Summer Storm._

He couldn't help smirking. His helm bobbed. Clever spirit. The words had been a straightforward direction, not a vague riddle as he'd thought.

"I dunno why you're helping me," he admitted aloud to the empty air, "but thanks."

Transforming, he leapt from building to building, keeping his body low, until he was near to the ship. When a break in passerby occurred, he leapt down into a space between two buildings, then darted out to shelter behind a container. Container by container, he made his way through the docks until a single container lay between him and the ship's platform. When crane and operator were busy with another crate, he made a mad flight up to the platform and squeezed between more crates. He sniffed at one out of curiosity. Contents smelled like someone had just walked out of a hospital, so he had to guess the ship was carting medical equipment. He tapped it with one claw. The echo that came back judged it as about half full. Probably not the best place to hide. Human healers were picky about hygiene. Drawing in air, tapping at containers with the tip of a claw, he wove among the giant metal boxes in search of one he could claw into. Finally he found one that smelled of silicon, other metals, and plastics. Technology of some variety he guessed, and the container didn't sound too full. He turned and plucked one of his tail blades off, grasped it in one dexterous front paw, and prised open the locks just enough to let him squirm inside.

It took a split second for his sight to adjust to the dark. Boxes of many sizes and shapes were stacked inside, held in place by thick bungee cords in case of choppy seas. Carefully he walked across them towards the back where the larger, sturdier boxes were held down. Shifting back to biped, he began to move them around to make a nook around himself hidden from easy sight, mindful to bungee cord the stacks back into place. There were display sets, televisions, held inside the largest boxes according to the labels, and internet routers and smart phones stored in the smaller ones.

" _Might as well have some entertainment and snacks for a long trip,_ " he joked dryly.

He shifted back to beast and coiled up in his nook. Two hours later, and he felt the ship chug to life and begin to move.

* * *

There was a hostility in the air that had not been there in the launch bays before, and it all came from the little ones. The she-devil's pack was not on friendly terms with the other little ones brought in for reasons it could not understand and that the little ones refused to clarify, and the hostility was not leaving. It did not like that uncomfortable charge in the air their hostility brought – the charge caused strange flashes of things that felt familiar but were unrecognizable. The only thing that appeared to prevent an all-out brawl from occurring between them was Ravage's glowing red gaze and its own large presence. As long as one or both were present, the hostility was kept under control.

The black she-devil walked past where it lay, watching. There was still a venom in her gaze, but it thought it detected a certain amount of respect now, or maybe something close to it. It could never tell with her. The others were easier to read. They never addressed it – none of them did. It had no means of being addressed yet. It was still waiting.

It shifted. It was no longer content to wait for a name. It wanted one. Now. It was the only being on the vessel that had no name. Surely it had waited long enough?

" _Ravage?_ " it asked.

The black hound lifted his helm. " _Yes?_ "

" _I want a name._ "

" _T_ _hat's something the Builder usually does. That's not my call to make._ "

It screeched. Could he at least help with suggestions?

" _Normally it's something significant done towards the cause that earns you a name, like I did,_ "Ravage said, " _or something unique to the individual. Since you haven't done the first yet, we can use the second for now._ "

That sounded agreeable, it said. But what was unique about it?

Ravage lifted a paw and rubbed the top of it against his lower jaw. He admitted he had no idea, but back in the era when beasts had ruled Cybertron, Draconians had almost always been selected as the Predaking, the supreme alpha of their kind, for their brute strength and innate ability to lead. It was a little presumptuous, he said, considering how young he was, but he did bear the crest of the Predaking on his chest. That was hint enough he had been a Predaking before.

" _Before?_ "

" _In another life._ "

It did now know how to react to Ravage's words. The name though – Predaking. It liked the sound of that name. There was a familiarity to it that it could not place.

" _Could I use that name?_ "

" _Officially, that's up to Shockwave to decide, not you or me. But between us beasts_ – _I suppose so_ _. Maybe it'll convince the mini-cons to be more cooperative whenever you're around. There were very few who would disobey a Predaking, and fewer still brave enough to challenge one. They were the absolute rulers of our society._ "

Images, smells, sounds, sensations, disjointed and fragmented, suddenly flashed in his mind. He was standing on a world of metal that shone in the sun, other beasts like him surrounding him on all sides. Some sat proudly beside him. Other before him bowed low in reverence. A screaming roar exactly like his own thundered in his audials, so clearly he thought the sound was coming from him at that moment. The other beasts emitted noises of their own: roars, howls, neighs, and noises he had no words to describe. The ones before him appeared so small, so weak compared to him, but they appeared pleased at seeing him and joined in the noise. And then it all disappeared. The gleaming metal world was replaced with the dark violets, blacks, and greys of the vessel, and the other beasts he did not know were replaced by ones he did.

" _Predaking..._ " he repeated to himself. " _Predaking..._ "

He rose up from the floor. He spread his wings and screamed, screamed loud enough for the whole the ship to hear, " _I AM PREDAKING!_ "

None of the little ones were impressed. The she-devil flicked her tail and requested he keep the ruckus down in a flat, annoyed voice, then laid her helm back down on her paws to resume her power down.

He growled at her. She did not mean it as an insult, he knew, but it felt like one regardless, and he did not understand why.

" _Don't let it go to your helm,_ " Ravage warned. " _Predaking is an earned title, not one slapped on at request. For now, it's a name to address you by. Nothing more, nothing less._ _You want it to be the real title, prove you are strong enough to hold it._ "

He found himself bobbing his helm in agreement. Yes. Yes. He needed an opponent, one strong enough to earn him his new name permanently. But where to find one?

Ravage eyed him through those four glowing lights. " _I think I know._ "

" _Who? Who can I challenge?_ "

" _There is another Draconian among the Autobots, him and a traitor. Kill either, and you will earn your keep of the title."_

 _"Where can I find him?_ "

" _You won't need to. He will come to you. All that is needed is the right lure. The Decepticons will provide that for you. They're good at attracting his attention._ "

* * *

 **Author's Note: I apologize for this being so short, but this is mostly a wrap up/lead-in chapter.**


End file.
